












• /% 




,=5^ 

./ V 



.} * ■ 












•v 







V^*> %.^> V'^V % 

•>. > N \**.V y.2*ik:-^ s.-ik;*'-*' 


















W 



0° 






\ 




V 4 * <£. 



THE BRIEF REMAMEB. 



THE 



BRIEF REMARKED 



OX THE 

WAYS OF MAN: 

OR, 

COMPENDIOUS DISSERTATIONS RESPECTING SOCIAL AND 
DOMESTIC RELATIONS AND CONCERNS, 

AND THE 

VARIOUS ECONOMY OF LIFE. 



BT 



EZRA ^f A MPSON. 



" The spacious West, 



" And all the teeming regions of the South, 
" Hold not a quarry, to the curious flight 
" Of knowledge, half so tempting or so fair 
" As JIan to Man,''' Akknside. 






NEW YORK: 
D. APPLE TON AND COMPANY, 



3i6 & 343 BROADWAY 

1855. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S55, by 

JOSEPH SAMPSON, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of 

New York. 



CONTENTS 



PAGB 

NUMBER I. 
Of the peculiar causes of so prevalent a restlessness of disposition, . « . . 11 

NUMBER II. 
Of troubles of our own making, 15 

NUMBER III. 
Of self-inflicted tortures, 19 

NUMBER IV. 

Of greedy ambitiousness after wealth —ominously the master-passion oi the times, . 23 

NUMBER Y. 

Of the tyranny of Fashion in laying enormous taxes upon common-conditioned folks, 
and grinding the faces of the poor, 27 

NUMBER VI. 

Of the papal rescript from the Court of Fashion, indirectly forbidding to marry, . . 31 

NUMBER VII. 

Of the elevation of the condition and character of women by means of Christianity, . 35 

NUMBER VIII. 
Of self-ignorance and self-adulation, 39 

NUMBER IX. 
Of the wide difference between wisdom and cunning, 43 

NUMBER X. 
Of the temporal advantages of uprightness of character, 47 

NUMBER XL 
An exemplification of true Christian honesty, 50 

NUMBER XII. 
Of the prevailing habit of promise-breaking in common dealing, 54 

NUMBER XIII. 
Of the heavy tax laid upon all worldly eminence, 58 



CONTENTS. 

NUMBEPw XIV. 

Of the inestimable value of a pious, discreet, and faithful mother, 62 

NUMBER XY. 
Truths said of boys, which boys will ne'er believe, 66 

NUMBER XYI. 
Of the contempt of womankind, 70 

NUMBER XVII. 

Of the increase of consequence ordinarily given a man by marrying, . . . .74 

NUMBER XVIII. 

Of the use and necessity of small change in social and domestic commerce, . . . 7S 

NUMBER XIX. 

Of the great social law, enjoining it upon each to yield place to each, . . . .82 

NUMBER XX 
Of the necessity of learning how to use money, 85 

NUMBER XXI. 
Of the wonderful boy, 89 

NUMBER XXII. 
Of bridling the tongue, 93 

NUMBER XXIII. 
Of saying too much, . . 96 

NUMBER XXIV. 
Of the salutary effects of the necessity, laid upon man, to labor, 100 

NUMBER XXV. 
Of the design and use of the thumb, 104 

NUMBER XXVI. 
Of idlers, 108 

NUMBER XXVII. 
Of productive labor, other than that of the hands, 112 

NUMBER XXVIII. 
A sorrow-soothing Scottish legend, 117 

NUMBER XXIX. 
Of maternal tenderness; or the sorrows of the daughter of Aiah, .... .121 

NUMBER XXX. 
Of prudence in the ordinary concerns of life, 125 

NUMBER XXXI. 

Of the vast importance of manner in giving counsel and reproof, 130 

NUMBER XXXII, 
Of truth -speaking as denoting courage, 134 

NUMBER XXXIIT. 
Of vulgarity, 138 



CONTENTS. 7 

NUMBER XXXIV. 
Of the very great influence of use or custom, as respects children, upon their disposi- 
tions and characters in after life, 142 

NUMBER XXXV. 

Of the advantages of the long-protracted weakness and dependence of childhood, . . 147 

NUMBER XXXVI. 
Of the moral benefits accruing to parents by means of the good instruction they give 
their children, . .150 

NUMBER XXXVII. 

Of the condition of old age — with directions for lightening its burden, . . . .154 

NUMBER XXXVIII. 

Of the silly quarrel between a venerable old couple about a little goat, .... 159 

NUMBER XXXIX. 
Of friendship, and the choice of friends, 164 

NUMBER XL. 
Of the importance of learning to say, No, 4 169 

NUMBER XLI. 
Of the calamities of hereditary idleness, 172 

NUMBER XLII. 

Of the lamentable species of helplessness occasioned by pride and false shame, . .176 

NUMBER XLIII. 

Of the proper and improper, as depending upon the diverse circumstances and ages of 
life, . ISO 

NUMBER XLIV. 

Of keeping children from the company of children, 154 

NUMBER XLV. 
Of teaching children to lie, 1SS 

NUMBER XL VI. 
Of habitual discontent, arising from imaginary wants, 193 

NUMBER XLVII. 
Of several of the predisposing causes of unhappy marriages, 197 

NUMBER XLV III. 
Of favoritism in the dealings of parents with their children, . . . 201 

NUMBER XLIX. 
Of the inestimable benefits of law, 2(K 

NUMBER L. 
Of a disputatious temper and habit, 210 

NUMBER LI. 
Of overdoing in governing children, 215 

NUMBER LIE 
Of procrastination, 21 ) 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

NUMBER LIII. 

Of the well-informed, . ... 224 

NUMBER LIY. 
Of the va'nness of trying to please everybody, 223 

NUMBER LY. 

Of the easiness of the transition from Christian civilization to comparative barbarism, . 231 

NUMBER LYI. 
A comment upon a celebrated allegory of antiquity, 23(5 

NUMBER LYII. 
Of forgetting old debts, and shuffling off the payment of small ones, . . . .241 

NUMBER LYIIL 
Of devotedness to pleasure, 245 

NUMBER LIX. 
Of vanity, as making part of the warp of our general nature 250 

NUMBER LX. 
Of the rueful consequences of living too fast, 255 

NUMBER LXI. 
Of banqueting upon borrowing, 259 

NUMBER LX1I. 
Of the principle of shame, 264 

NUMBER LXIII. 
Of virtuous poverty, 26S 

NUMBER LXIY. 
Of frivolity of character, 271 

NUMBER LXY. 
Of the natural and the moral heart, 275 

NUMBER LXY1. 
Of moral education, 2S0 

NUMBER LXYII. 
Of the power of the imagination over young minds— instanced in George Hopewell, . 2S6 

NUMBER LXYIII. 

Of the foul nature and direful effects of customary gaming, 290 

NUMBER LXIX. 
Of the almost insuperable power of habit, 294 

NUMBER LXX. 
Of the world, 293 

NUMBER LXXI. 
Of the inquisitiveness of children, 303 

NUMBER LXXII. 
Of the influence of early impressions upon all the following periods of life, . . . 807 



CONTENTS. 9 



PAGE 

NUMBER LXXIII. 
Of calamitous reverses in respect to worldly circumstances, 312 

NUMBER LXXIV. 
Of the attention due both to mind and body, 317 

NUMBER LXXV. 
Of the general proneness to petty scandal, 321 

NUMBER LXXVL 

Of enjoying independence as to worldly circumstances without possessing wealth, . 321 

NUMBER LXXVIL 
Of the early and ardent desire for power, 33J 

NUMBER LXXYIII. ^ 
Of giving in marriage, 335 

NUMBER LXXIX. 
Of useful industry, considered as a moral duty, 339 

NUMBER LXXX. 
Of the moral use of the pillow — with reflections on sleep, 343 

NUMBER LXXXI. 

Of the two opposite errors — the extreme of susjucion and the extreme of confidence, . 343 

NUMBER LXXXII. 
Of sunshine friends, 352 

NUMBER LXXXIIL 
Of the misuse of the faculties of memory, 356 

NUMBER LXXXIV. 
Of attaining a facility of utterance, or vocal expression, 360 

NUMBER LXXXV. 
A comment upon the fable of the invisible spectacles, 365 

NUMBER LXXXYI. 
Of the misuse, and the proper use, of reading, 369 

NUMBER LXXXVII. 
Of excessive and indiscriminate novel-reading, 374 

NUMBER LXXX VIII. 
Of the impassable and unalterable limits to the pleasures of sense, 379 

NUMBER LXXXIX. 

Of the difference between ignorance and a natural weakness of understanding, . . 383 

NUMBER XC. 
Of evil thinking 3S7 

NUMBER XCI. 
Of treating children with excessive severity, 391 

NUMBER XCIL 

Of drawing and fixing the attention of children, 395 

1* 



10 CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

NUMBER XCIII. 

Of balancing the principles of hope and fear in the governance of children, . . . 399 

NUMBER XCIV. 
Of brevity in relation to sundry particulars, 403 

NUMBER XCY. 

Of some particulars conducive to conjugal peace and happiness 407 

NUMBER XCVI. 

Of regarding accomplishments as the principal part of female education,' . . .413 

NUMBER XCTII. 

Of the common use of false weights and measures in dealing out both praise and censure, 418 

NUMBER XCYIII. 

Of an officious meddling with, and a total disregard of the affairs of others, . . . 423 

NUMBER XCIX. 
Of turning good to ill by tampering with it, ... 42T 

NUMBER C. 
Of a restless desire to know what others say of us, 432 

NUMBER CI. 
Summary characteristics, 436 

NUMBER CIL 

Of the necessity of seasonable precaution, . 440 

NUMBER CHI. 
Of our proneness to go from one extreme to another, 444 

NUMBER CIV. 
Of despising small things, 44S 

NUMBER CV. 
Of cutting the coat to the cloth, 452 

NUMBER CVI. 
A solemn monition, 466 



THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEE I. 

OF THE PECULIAE CAUSES OF SO PEEVALEXT A EESTLESSNESS OF 

DISPOSITION. 

While some ruin their circumstances by their indolence, others 
do it by their restlessness ; always busy, but never pursuing any 
plan of regular industry. No sooner are they settled down in 
one business, than they change it for another. They are " every 
thing by turns and nothing long." Their attention thus dissi- 
pated turns to no account, and poverty overtakes them while 
they are flying so many different ways to escape it. Whereas 
a steady, straightforward course in almost any single business 
might have secured them a competence. 

It is neither an imaginary nor a rare character, that I have 
now been describing : it is to be met with every where, in town 
and country. Thousands are undone by means of this single 
foible ; every thing else in their habits and dispositions giving 
promise of success. This restlessness is owing sometimes to 
natural temper ; but most commonly, perhaps, to the peculiar 



12 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

circumstances of the country in which we live. In China, a 
boy must follow the occupation of his father, and stick to that or 
starve. In India, no one can raise himself above the level of 
the caste in which he happens to be born. Nor is the mass of 
Europeans altogether free from shackles, that bind them down 
to occupations in which their own choice has had no concern. 
If a man there be bred a cobbler, he hardly may aspire to the 
honor of making shoes. But here, on the other hand, a man 
may put off his calling almost as easily as his clothes : or he 
may patch together several callings, and pursue them alternately 
or all at once, as best suits his own fancy. Here, the field of 
individual enterprise is alike open to all. Here, no one is of a 
family so humble as to be precluded from the possibility of rais- 
ing himself, not only to opulence, but to office and rank. Here, 
wealth is shifting hands with such rapidity that, in one or two 
generations, the hills sink and the valleys rise. 

Now, as this condition of things animates thousands with 
the spirit of enterprise, so it occasions in very many a restless- 
ness and instability of feeling. Possessing freedom of choice, 
and having before them so many objects to choose betwixt, they 
never come to an. election that fully satisfies them. Add to 
this, that the last twenty-five years have (by reason of the unex- 
ampled state of Europe) furnished instances, in almost every 
district of our country, of some rising suddenly to great opu- 
lence, by a single stroke in the experiments of speculation, and 
without any attention at all to the process of patient industry ; — 
a circumstance that has operated powerfully on young minds, 
and on minds not young, in rendering them dissatisfied with 
slow gains or small profits, and impatient of the drudgery of 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 13 

any laborious calling. Not to mention that our countr} 7 has. of 
itself, for a very long time past, furnished magnificent scenes, 
and numerous opportunities of speculation, altogether unexam- 
pled perhaps in the history of man. 

Moreover, it is obvious to remark, that our enterprising 
youth are necessarily, as it were, tinctured with a romantic dis- 
position. The books that they most read, are of the romantic 
kind ; alike inflaming the imagination, and misleading the judg- 
ment, by descriptions :: of a world where events are produced by 
causes widely and manifestly different from those which regu- 
late the course of human affairs." Also, for almost the term of 
a whole generation, there has been constantly exhibited to view 
such a series of marvels in the civilized world, that the history 
of real life carries on it the appearance of romance. 

Nothing very strange is it, therefore, that the minds of a 
great many are unsettled, notional, and fraught with extrava- 
gant expectations. And this is the less to be wondered at, as 
it is customary for our youth to step into manhood earlier than 
in former ages, or perhaps than in any country else. Commenc- 
ing men at an immature period, and under such powerful im- 
pulses to wild extravagances of imagination, it would be mar- 
vellous indeed if they were not, many of them, averse to any 
sober, rational, and steady plan of life. 

To contrast the past with the present in a short biographical 
notice of one of the first and wealthiest merchants of the last 
age, the writer remarks : — " It was an invariable rule with him 
to avoid every kind of dangerous experiment, and to confine 
himself to such branches of trade as admitted the surest princi- 
ples of calculation." — This golden rule of business, which in 



14 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

former times of " steady habits " was sacredly regarded, not 
merely by that merchant, but generally ; — this golden rule of 
business has, by a concurrence of unparalleled circumstances, 
been made to give place to rashness of speculation and a rest- 
less spirit of adventure — an evil, which nothing but length of 
time, and the smart-giving rod of stern experience will, in any 
likelihood, be able to cure. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 15 



NUMBER II. 

OF TROUBLES OF OUR OWN MAKING. 

There is in our nature such a restlessness of disposition, 
that we commonly make to ourselves more than half the evils we 
feel. Unsatisfied with what we are, or possess, we are still crav- 
ing something past or to come, and by regrets, desires, and fears, 
are perpetually poisoning the streams of present enjoyment. 
The weather is too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry. If we 
have nothing to do, time hangs upon us an insupportable burdeD. 
If our circumstances compel us to daily labor, we fret to see 
others enjoying their leisure. Although we have food and 
raiment enough, and good enough, still we are dissatisfied that 
we are not rich. If, on the contrary, we chance to be rich, the 
weight of cares, the pains of getting, the difficulty of keeping, and 
the fears of losing, give us incessant disquiet and fatigue. 

Mrs. Thrift has a decent competence, together with a kind 
husband, and fine children ; but her heart is sick because she 
cannot live in the splendid style of her wealthy neighbor, Mrs. 
Modish. At the same time, Mrs. Modish, yoked to a surly, 



16 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 

snappish, gouty husband, is secretly envying the condition of 
Mrs. Thrift. 

Honest Abraham has a good farm, and is an excellent 
farmer, and free of debt; but his peace of mind is destroyed 
by being disappointed of an office ; — an office, too, without emol- 
ument. Farmer Thomas, his more artful neighbor who got the 
office, no sooner received his commission, than he began to dash 
away like a gentleman, and consequently neglected his farm, and 
impoverished his family ; and by this time he sincerely regrets 
his having been so foolish as to barter solid pudding for empty 
honor. 

Mercator, having acquired a snug estate by trade, grows 
uneasy, and sighs for a country life. Purling brooks, vocal 
groves, fragrant meadows, blooming orchards, and fields covered 
with a golden harvest, enchant his imagination. He sells his 
stock in trade, and purchases a farm, which he manages with 
about as much skill as a mere landsman would manage a ship at 
sea : it brings him in debt ; and venting upon it no very gentle 
epithets, he longs to leave it, and go back to the situation he had 
abandoned. 

Agricolus, weary of a dull, plodding way of living and of 
slow gains, leaves the plough and becomes a merchant. He 
sells his fast estate, and purchases with it goods, running in debt 
a few thousands, as he, would needs have a handsome assortment. 
His goods are unskilfully chosen, and meet with a wretched 
market. Pay day comes, and his creditors, blest with excellent 
memories, are prompt in urging him to a settlement. But, alas ! 
of money he has none. And now, " to break or not to break, 
that's the question." He struggles hard, makes new debts to 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 17 

pay old ones, sells at great loss ; borrows money at 30 or 40 per 
cent., breaks at last ; and whereas he merely imagined himself 
unhappy while holding the plough, he now feels that he is so 
indeed. 

Thus mankind, from a restless disposition, render themselves 
wretched, when they might be much at their ease. 

It would be worth to one, more than any, or even all of the 
arts and sciences, to learn the art of living happily. I don't 
mean perfect happiness, which is not to be enjoyed here: but 
such a degree of happiness as our Maker has put in our power. 
The art of living happily does not lie in stoical apathy ; for as 
to the real and sharp afflictions of life, while one ought " to bear 
them like a man, he should also feel them like a man." Nor 
does he know the sweets of friendship, who feels little or no pain 
at being sundered from a near friend. Much less does it lie in 
the nauseating lap of gross sensuality; for the enjoyment of the 
mere sensualist is no higher than that of the pampered horse in 
the stable or stud, or the fattening pig in the sty. Indeed the 
brute has much the advantage, as it lives according to its nature 
and destination, while the man is haunted with a perpetual con- 
sciousness of the shameful degradation of his moral and intel- 
lectual faculties. 

The following maxims, or rules of action might, if strictly 
observed, go far to increase the happiness, or, at least, to di- 
minish the inquietudes and miseries of life. 

Live constantly in the unshaken belief of the overruling provi- 
dence of an infinitely wise and good, as well as Almighty Being ; 
and prize his power above all things. 

Observe inviolably truth in your words, and integrity in 
your actions. 



18 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Accustom yourself to temperance, and be master of your 
passions. 

Be not too much out of humor with the world ; but remem- 
ber, it is a world of God's creating, and however sadly it is 
marred by wickedness and folly, yet you have found in it more 
comforts than calamities, more civilities than affronts, more in- 
stances of kindness towards 3^011 than of cruelty. 

Try to spend your time usefully both to yourself and others. 
Never make an enemy, or lose a friend unnecessarily. Cultivate 
such an habitual cheerfulness of mind, and evenness of temper, 
as not to be ruffled by trivial inconveniences and crosses. 

Be ready to heal breaches in friendship, and to make up 
differences ; and shun litigation yourself as much as possible ; 
for he is an ill calculator, who does not perceive that one 
amicable settlement is better than two lawsuits. 

Be it rather your ambition to acquit yourself well in your 
proper station than to rise above it. 

Despise not small honest gains, nor risk what you have on the 
delusive prospect of sudden riches. If you are in a comfortable 
thriving way, keep in it, and abide in your own calling rather 
than run the chance of another. In a word, mind to " use the world 
as not abusing it," and probably you will find as much comfort 
in it as is most lit for a frail being, who is merely journeying 
through it toward an immortal abode. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 19 



NUMBER III. 



OF SELF-INFLICTED TORTURES. 



Nothing is more common than the discontent of those who 
have not even a shadow of cause for discontent. They are 
neither sick, nor pinched with poverty, nor called to sustain dis- 
tressing hardships. They enjoy both food and appetite. They 
have raiment to put on, and friends to converse with ; and if 
not rich, have fully enough for the moderate supply of all their 
real wants. Yet these enjoyments, these bounties of indulgent 
Heaven, are poisoned, as it were, by the discontent of their minds, 
so that they are wretched amidst health and competence. 

What are the illusions that thus obstruct the sources of 
eDJoyment, and, in this favored country, cheat so many out of the 
happiness of which Providence had put them in possession ? — They 
are such as usually spring from one or other of the three follow- 
ing causes ; — perverseness of temper ; false theories of worldly 
happiness ; the influence of opinion. 

With respect to enjoying ourselves or not in life, more, a 



20 THE BEIEF REMARKEB 

great deal, depends upon temper than upon circumstances. Xot 
that our enjoyments are not always considerably affected by our 
worldly circumstances, and sometimes in a very great decree ; 
but if they are such, that we are able to supply ourselves with 
all the real necessaries and essential comforts of life, it is not 
our circumstances; but our tempers that are in fault, if we are 
not too happy to complain, and too grateful to repine. The root 
of our uneasiness is altogether in our own minds, and without a 
thorough change there, no change of place or of outward circum- 
stances could quiet us. What though all our present ideal wants 
were satisfied ? other ideal wants would presently start up, and 
we should still be weaving for ourselves the web of miser v. A 
temper, that inclines to be satisfied with its present lot, is worth 
more than thousands a year ; whereas restlessness of temper is 
one of the greatest of misfortunes. A full half of human trou- 
bles would vanish, and the rest be lightened, if there were a 
thorough cure of this one scrofulous disease of the heart. 

Our false theories of worldly happiness constitute another 
huge class of troubles of our own making : and the effects of 
these false theories are the more deplorable, inasmuch as the 
disappointments, inevitably resulting from them, sour the dispo- 
sition, and thereby enhance the numbers of the wretched victims 
of temper. Corporeal enjoyments are few and simple ; neither 
wealth, nor any of the arts of refinement, can add considerably 
to their number, or any thing at all to their relish. The pleas- 
ures of sense are limited by narrow boundaries, which never can 
be passed without instantly turning pleasure into pain : and 
however much we may refine upon the pleasures of sense, our re- 
finements can increase them but very little. The most refined 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 21 

epicure, for example, has scarcely any more enjoyment of the 
pleasures of the table, than one who confines himself to the plain- 
est viands. Wherefore nothing is more plain and easy of com- 
prehension than the true notion of mere worldly happiness : — the 
whole sum of it results from health, competence, the friendly so- 
ciety of neighbors and acquaintance, and the pure joys of domes- 
tic life. He that has these, though he have neither wealth nor 
rank, enjoys about all the world can bestow. But these real and 
unsophisticated enjoyments, which are bestowed in fully as large 
measure upon the peasant as upon the prince, are too vulgar for 
the fastidious taste of visionary speculatists ; they must find a 
something that is quite above and beyond the common blessings 
of life, else they are determined not to enjoy themselves at all. 
Thus they lose the good, that lies fairly within their reach, by 
laying out their endeavors to grasp an abstract something, that 
is conceivable indeed, but not attainable ; — an ignis fatuus, which 
the eye plainly sees, but which evades the touch, and baffles 
all pursuit. 

The last brood of artificial troubles, which I proposed to 
notice, are those that are generated by the influence of opinion : 
I mean not one's own opinion, but the opinion of others. We 
are such strange and unaccountable creatures, that we are more 
solicitous to appear happy than really to be so ; and hence we 
willingly abridge our real enjoyments for the sake of seeming to 
possess enjoyments superior to those thstt are altogether common 
to mankind. Now the general opinion of society (a very erro- 
neous one indeed) makes the pomp of show a prerequisite for 
being deemed happy, or, at least, for obtaining the credit of re- 
fined enjo} T ment ; and this general opinion, how much soever we 



22 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

may despise it in our judgments, has an astonishing influence 
upon our conduct and feelings ; an influence that precipitates 
hundreds and tens of hundreds from a condition of competence 
to that of poverty. 

That apt Remarker, Dr. Franklin, observes ; " The eyes of 
other people are the eyes that ruin us. If all but myself were 
blind, I should want neither fine clothes, fine houses, nor fine 
furniture." — It is even so; — and it is this supreme regard to the 
eyes of others, that leads multitudes into extravagant and ruin- 
ous expenses. Without adequate funds, they build them fine 
houses, and purchase them fine furniture, and array themselves 
with costly apparel, that others may gaze upon them as persons 
possessed of taste and of refined enjoyments ; and by these means 
they are presently stripped of the very necessaries of life. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 23 



NUMBER IV. 

OF GEEEDY AMBITIOUSNESS AFTEE WEALTH — OMINOUSLY THE MASTER 

PASSION OF THE TIMES, 

Ambition's thorny path is too narrow for two to go abreast. 
Each struggles hard to get forward of each ; and the one that is 
foremost of all, must press onward with might and main, else some 
other will rush by him. He that stumbles is trampled over by 
the crowd behind him. It is all a scramble, in which the suc- 
cessful competitors are greeted with shouts of applause, and the 
unsuccessful assailed with the hisses of derision and scorn. 

In a former age, it was the ambition of the celebrated Cardi- 
nal de Retz to be first in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, the 
Parisians. His munificence exceeded all former example ; his 
liberalities were unbounded. The courtesy of his manners, and 
the fascinating charms of his address, won him universal friend- 
ship and admiration. At home he was crowded with visitors : 
when he rode through the streets, he was accompanied with a 



24 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

splendid retinue of nobility and gentry, all proud to do him 
honor ; and whenever he entered the parliament, marked respect 
and homage were paid him there. But there happened an inci- 
dent that put this friendship to the test, and proved it light as 
air. 

Upon a time the Cardinal was thought to be on the eve of 
ruin. In that situation he went to the parliament, to clear him 
self of heavy charges, which his enemies had raised against him. 
The account of his reception there is thus given in his memoirs, 
written with his own hand. 

" We went to the parliament. The princes had there near a 
thousand gentlemen with them ; and I may say, hardly one from 
the court was missing there. I was in my church habit, and 
went through the great hall, with my cap in my hand, saluting 
everybody; but I met with but few that returned me that civil- 
ity, so strongly ivas it believed that I was an undone man" 

Neither is this a solitary example, nor one of rare occurrence. 
History abounds with examples that, in the falling fortunes of 
the great and noble of the earth, their friends fall off, like leaves 
from the trees in the first frosts of autumn. Sir Walter Ra- 
leigh, alike celebrated as a scholar, a gentleman, a statesman, a 
soldier, and a man of genius, in his last letter to his wife, after 
his most unjust condemnation to death, says : " To what friend 
to direct you I know not ; for all mine have left me in the true 
time of need." 

But not any longer to dwell on the scenes of high life, with 
which the generality of my readers have as little concern as my- 
self, I will turn now to the walks of the more common sort. 

In countries where distinction of orders is established by 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 25 

law, ambition runs in two different channels. With not a few 
its main object is rank, titles, stars, garters, and ribbons; these 
baubles being by them preferred greatly to mere wealth, which is 
eagerly pursued by those, chiefly, who can have little or no ex- 
pectation of attaining to the high distinctions of civil, ecclesias- 
tical, or military rank. Whereas, in this free country of ours, where 
there is no distinction of orders, and no established rank of one 
family above another, the undivided current of ambition is to- 
wards wealth. Avarice is the general and the ruling passion 
The pursuit of gain is the only secular pursuit that is much val- 
ued or thought of; because, in the common estimation the grand 
point of honor is to be rich. Mammon is the idol, to which every 
thing else is made to bend. Offices are sought after for their emol- 
uments chiefly. Nay, the august seats of legislation are unhes- 
itatingly deserted for public employments, barren of honor, but of 
greater profit. Men are appraised, and rated high or low, according 
to the magnitude of their property. The common question, What 
is he worth ? is answered only in one way. If his estate be 
small, he is worth little ; if he have no estate left, he is worth 
nothing. It is but of small account, though he have an ample 
fund of moral and intellectual worth ; — the worth that is most 
eagerly sought, most highly prized, and most generally esteemed, 
is pecuniary worth. 

In the scramble of such multitudes after riches, very many 
must needs be unsuccessful; for in no country whatever, can 
more than a comparative few arrive at wealth. By far the 
greater part of the candidates, falling short of their expecta- 
tions, endure the pangs of disappointment, and pine under the 
corro dings of envy. With some avarice defeats its own aim. 
2 



26 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Their greediness of gain, if it impel them not to deeds of fraud 
or violence, which bring them to shame and ruin, yet spurs 
them on to engage in rash and ruinous adventures. The estates 
of others, as Franklin's Poor Bichard said, are spent in the 
getting. Fondly anticipating a fortune, they dash away as if 
they really had it in hand. Others again counterfeit the splendor 
of riches, that they may put themselves and their families in the 
ranks of honor. But if they have fallen from these appearances, 
they had better, in the eye of fashion, have fallen from grace. 
Whatever of estimable and amiable qualities they may possess, 
they fare with their former visitors and familiars, as the Cardi- 
nal did with his, at the time he was thought " an undone man." 

Industry, frugality, and thrift, are republican virtues. But 
a scrambling for money, as the chief good, is of bad omen. It 
produces meanness of sentiment and sordidness of disposition. 
A free people, whose passions are set altogether on the pursuit 
of gain, can hardly remain free very long ; because the necessary 
consequence of such a spirit of avarice is fraud in private life, 
and venality and corruption in public life. 

An able author, while treating incidentally of the fall of the 
Boman republic, remarks : — " The course that a free nation runs 
is from virtuous industry to wealth ; from wealth to luxury ; from 
luxury to an impatience of discipline and corruption of morals ; 
till by a total degeneracy and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for 
destruction, it falls at last a prey to some hardy oppressor, and, 
with the loss of liberty, loses every thing else that is valuable." 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 27 



NUMBER V. 

OF THE TYRANNY OF FASHION IX LAYING ENORMOUS TAXES UPON COM- 
MON-CONDITIONED FOLKS, AND GRINDING THE FACES OF THE POOR. 

Every one, who reads English history, must know that Richard 
the Third had a humped back. And, as ancient story goes, 
humping became quite fashionable during his reign. The cour- 
tiers, the Lords, the Ladies, and the under gentry, patterning 
after royalty, wore, each, a fashionable crook in the back : so the 
English of that day were fi a crooked generation," sure enough. 
Be this, however, as it may, in point of ridiculous absurdity it 
hardly exceeds what is very commonly seen among ourselves. 

Though we would fain be called a Christian people, it is a fact, 
as notorious as sad, that an anti-christian deity is worshipped 
among us, in town and country, and by immense numbers of all 
classes, and of both sexes. Look where you will, you see all 
ranks bowing, cringing, bendiDg the knee — to what? to Fashion. 
This is the goddess of their idolatry. They yield implicit obedi- 
ence to her laws, however absurd and barbarous ; and though she 



28 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

changes as often as the moon, they follow her in all her changes, 
and ape her in all her freaks, — humping whenever she humps. 
They are brought to endure cold and nakedness, when but for 
having followed her mandates, they might be comfortably clad. 
They reject and despise the diet which she forbids, though whole- 
some and palatable, and best suited, as well to their constitutions, 
as to their circumstances. They pay tithes to her of all they 
possess. Tithes did I say ? It were well if only a tenth would 
satisfy her ; she often claims even more than one half. Did she 
tax only the rich, who are able to pay, it would not be so bad ; 
but she lays her rapacious hands on the middling classes, and 
even upon the poor. Nay, the knavish hussey seizes what ought to 
be laid up against old age and sickness, and also what ought to 
go to the creditor. By the decree of fashion, this republican, 
and otherwise free nation is thrown into castes, as really in some 
respects, as the East Indians have been by their Brahmins ; and 
the only way to gain admission, or maintain a standing in the 
higher castes, is to dress gorgeously and fare sumptuously, no mat- 
ter by what means. Hence the general struggle. The rich march 
foremost in the ranks of fashion, and the others keep as close to 
their heels as possible, following on in a long train, like files of 
geese. This is comic in appearance, but tragic in reality. It is 
amusing, at first thought, to see families, in narrow circumstances, 
struggling to make the appearance of high life ; to see them vy- 
ing, not only with one another, but with the rich, to exceed in 
finery and splendor ; to see how much pains they take, and how 
many arts they use to dazzle the eyes of the beholder with the 
mockery of wealth. But on due reflection, one finds more reason 
to be sad than merry. — When we consider that these deluded 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 29 

people are following a phantom, that is leading them to ruin ; 
that they are incurring expenses, which they are utterly unable 
to support ; that they are bartering away solid comforts for an 
empty show ; that by striving to live splendidly, they are losing 
the means of living decently and comfortably : when we consider 
that they are bringing wretchedness upon their children by leav- 
ing them to the bufferings of poverty, aggravated highly by their 
early acquaintance with fashionable life : when we consider, final- 
ly, that some of them are defrauding their creditors, by sacrificing 
on the altar of fashion what is needed for the payment of their 
just debts ; — when we put these considerations together, we find 
them enough to excite deep regret and sorrow. 

It is questionable whether great wealth conduces, on the whole, 
even to worldly happiness. It cannot cure an aching head, or 
soothe an aching heart ; it is no shield from the shafts of misfor- 
tune, nor from the arrows of death ; it brings to the possessor 
an addition of cares as well as of comforts, and is often the means 
of bringing moral ruin upon his children ; and while it increases 
his power and influence, it increases^ also, his responsibility. — 
The rich have, however, one exclusive privilege : they have a 
right to make a splendid appearance in the world, because their 
circumstances can well afford it. Fine houses, expensive furni- 
ture, stately equipage, and sumptuous fare, are within the bounds 
of their real means, and therefore not censurable in them. In 
one point of view, the profusion of their expenses is beneficial to 
the community, as it gives employment, and affords sustenance to 
industry. Yet there can be shown " a more excellent wa} T . 1 ' — 
Frugality is comely even in the rich. Not that frugality, which 
degenerates to parsimony, and causes the rich to wear the garb 



30 THE BKIEE EEMARKEE 

of poverty, from a sordid spirit of penuriousness : nor yet that 
frugality, which saves merely to increase a hoard of wealth, al- 
ready too large ; but it is a prudent saving from the grasp of pro- 
fusion for the purpose of charity and beneficence. — Take the fol- 
lowing example : — 

Benevolus has both largeness of wealth and largeness of 
heart. Content with his present worldly store, he is resolved 
that his expenses shall about equal his income. He lives daily 
in the style of affluence, but never in the style of extravagance : 
and what he saves by frugality he bestows in charity. To the 
children of misfortune and want he is a friend and a father ; of 
every useful and laudable undertaking he is a bountiful encou- 
rager. Does Benevolus aspire to be a leader of fashion ? Yes. 
With all the weight of his influence he tries to make industry, 
prudent economy, and frugality fashionable ; to make the moral 
and Christian virtues fashionable ; to make it fashionable to 
behave well and to do good. Happy man ! Happy the children 
of such a father, and the community that has such a pattern ! 

As the richest families may be beggared by extravagance, 
much sooner will it consume one's all when that all is but little — 
and what avails the ruffle without the shirt ? Persons who are 
in small circumstances must prudently husband what they have, 
or it will quickly slip out of their hands. How unwise is it for 
them to make an ostentation of wealth which they do not pos- 
sess, or to pursue fashion " when she runs faster than they can 
follow." Many thousands, by standing on tiptoe, and reaching 
after things too high for them, have fallen flat to the ground. 
If you follow fashion beyond your real means, depend upon it, 
the skittish jade will throw you into the mire at last. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 31 



NUMBER VI. 



FOEBIDDING TO MAEEY. 



The injunction of celibacy, or of the monastic life, by the 
Romish Church, being directly in opposition to the order and or- 
dination of nature, has, more than any other single cause what- 
ever, produced a huge mass of evils, both moral and physical, 
in those countries that have been under the papal dominion ; 
evils too obvious to need pointing out, and too flagitious, some 
of them, to name. With prophetic reference, as we Protestants 
fully believe, to the doings of that corrupted church, St. Paul, in 
his second epistle to Timothy, expresses himself as follows : — 
" Now the spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times, some 
shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and 
doctrines of demons." — And immediately after he particularizes 
the unnatural and monstrous rescript, " For bidding to marry" 
as of the same infernal family, or nearly allied with " the doc- 
trines of demons," aforementioned. 



32 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

If, however, there were no " forbidding to marry " except in 
the Romish Church, we might hope that a full cure of the 
deadly evil is at hand. But this diabolical prohibition, — to wit, 
forbidding to marry, — has been enjoined and enforced even more 
extensively, in one other way, than it ever was by the canons of 
the Vatican. — Iwill explain my meaning by sketching a fragment 
of ancient history. 

The ancient Romans were republicans after their kind, and 
continued such for a considerable number of centuries. Though 
they were pagan idolaters, and their worship was deplorably cor- 
rupt, yet, previous to their imbibing the atheism of Epicurus, 
they generally believed in a future retribution of rewards 
and punishments : which belief operated so powerfully upon 
them, that they were truly exemplary in some few of their social 
virtues. In particular perjury was scarcely known among them, 
and infidelity in the connubial state was no less uncommon. 
The Roman republicans were plain men and women, accustomed 
to daily labor, and quite unaccustomed to finery of apparel or 
luxury of living. A Roman, of even noble blood, tilled his little 
field with his own hands, and was proud of tilling it with supe- 
rior industry and skill ; whilst his wife made it her chief ambi- 
tion to be an excellent housewife. While this state of things 
lasted, and a very long while it did last, the Romans were eager 
enough to get themselves wives. They married generally, and 
they married young ; for they thought, and well they might, 
that whoso found a wife, found a good thing, — a real help- 
meet, as well as a dear and faithful companion. And what is 
singularly remarkable, if true, it is recorded by a Roman histo- 
rian, that there had not been known in the city of Rome, a single 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 33 

instance of divorcement during the whole space of five hundred 
years ; though the law had put it in the power of the husband 
to repudiate his wife almost at pleasure. 

Unfortunately for the Roman Republic, and more especially 
for the female part of it, a great and splendid event quite 
changed the morals, the taste, the habits, and the whole face of 
the country. One hundred and ninety years before the Chris- 
tian era, the Romans, for the first time, entered Asia with an 
army, which, under Scipio, defeated and conquered Antiochus 
the Great, of Syria : and from hence they brought home such a 
taste for the luxuries of the East, as promoted and hastened the 
ruin of their commonwealth ; and in no way more directly, than by 
a practical forbiddance of marriage. The Roman women, once 
so plain, frugal, and industrious, became enamored of the costly 
finery that was brought from the East. One of them, named 
Lollia Paulina, when dressed in all her jewels, is said to have 
worn the value of three hundred and thirty-two thousand pounds 
sterling. And though this was the most extraordinary instance 
of the time, yet it is reasonable to suppose that of the rest of the 
ladies, every one strove to get as near the top of the fashion as 
she could ; and that with all the females, who thought any thing 
of themselves, the rage was to be fine and fashionable. This new 
order of things, while it precipitated the republic down the 
abyss of ruin, brought marriage almost into disuse : insomuch 
that Augustus, the first Roman Emperor, finding among the 
men a general disinclination to marry, was fain to pass severe 
penal laws, to force them, as it were, into the marriage bonds. 
But it was all to little purpose. Despot and tyrant as he was, 
he found it as impossible to compel the bachelors to marry, as 
2* 



34 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Peter the First long since did, to compel the Russians to shave 
off their beards. Was it owing to the licentiousnesss of the men ? 
In part it was, no doubt ; but not altogether. It was partly 
owing to their prudence. A Roman bachelor, naturally enough, 
would commune with himself thus : — " These extravagant flirts, 
of whose attire a single article costs more than one of them 
would earn in her whole lifetime, are fit only for show. I like 
mighty well to be in their company at courts and assemblies ; 
but the gods save me from a union with them ! If I marry, un- 
less my wife bring me a fortune, she will quickly devour mine. 
Wherefore, I will look out only for number one, in spite of the 
edicts of the Emperor." 

Consider, ye American Fair, that, in all times and countries, 
the like causes will produce the like effects. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 35 



NUMBER VII. 

ON THE ELEVATION OF THE CONDITION AND CHARACTER OF WOMEN 
BY MEANS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

In all ages of the world, the greatest portion of sorrow and 
hardship has fallen to the lot of the female part of our race. 
Amongst all the numerous tribes of savages and barbarians, in what- 
ever quarter of the earth, or in the islands of the seas, females 
are despised and degraded, and a wife is but little better condi- 
tioned than a bond slave. " While the man passes his days in 
idleness and amusement, the woman is condemned to incessant 
toil. Tasks are imposed upon her without mercy, and services 
are received without complacence or gratitude." The laws and 
customs of Mohammedanism, as well as of Paganism, degrade and 
enslave the women ; a degradation and slavery of vast extent, since 
by far the greater number of the human kind are either Moham- 
medans or Pagans. 

It is only in Christian countries that women rise to their 



36 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

proper rank, and are treated as companions and equals. For 
this happy improvement in their condition, they are indebted to 
Christianity, which, as well by humanizing and purifying the 
heart, as by the prohibition of polygamy, has loosed the bonds 
of their captivity, and, at the same time, adorned them with vir- 
tues, the most estimable and amiable. 

The New Testament is the great charter of the rights of 
women ; and not only the great charter of their rights, but the 
unerring directory of their duties, and the choice cabinet, as it 
were, of their most precious ornaments. As the benevolent sys- 
tem of Christianity frees them from vassalage, and exalts their 
rank in society, so it inspires them, at the same time, with a 
taste for what is morally excellent, and virtuous, and lovely. 
Nor is it a little remarkable, that of the religion, which so enno- 
bles their sex, they are the first, the most general, and among 
the most effectual teachers. It is from women, that almost our 
whole sex, as well as theirs, receives its earliest instruction in 
religion and morality. Though they are neither missionaries 
abroad nor preachers at home, yet, as spreaders and promul- 
gators of Christianity, they are hardly less useful than those 
venerable orders of men. Throughout all Christendom, as pre- 
ceptresses, as mothers, and in their various domestic relations, 
they have the moulding of the minds of future men, as well as 
of future women, during those infantile years, in which the mind 
is comparable to soft wax, and when the impressions, which are 
made upon it, are the most indelible. So that it would not, per- 
haps, be extravagant to believe, that a full half of the whole Chris- 
tian world has been christianized, or first imbued with Christian 
principles, by means of female teachers. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 37 

Scarcely any thing admits of clearer proof from history, than 
that the institutions for alleviating human misfortune and dis- 
tress have grown out of the Christian religion ; and nothing, sure- 
ly, could confer greater dignity on the female sex, than its active 
and zealous co-operation in establishing such plans of general phi- 
lanthropy. 

All along, from the first age of Christianity, down to later 
times, there have been women, highly distinguished for their pious 
benevolence, and active beneficence ; but, not having learned to 
form themselves into societies for joint acts of charity, their soli- 
tary or individual efforts could afford relief to but few. For the 
present illustrious epoch, in the christianized world, has been re- 
served the honor of multiplying and extending, far beyond all 
former examples, their humane plans and institutions. Multiplied 
as these have been, and multiplying as they are likely to be, no 
tongue can tell, no heart conceive, the benefits of the little stream- 
lets, issuing in such innumerable directions from this single 
source ; — benefits not only to the Receivers, but also to the Giv- 
ers ; for it is even " more blessed to give than to receive." The 
occupations of charity nourish and strengthen some of the best 
feelings of the heart, and, at the same time, are rewarded with 
the enjoyment of a higher pleasure, than the hoards of wealth or 
its pageantries can ever bestow. "What wonders and wli it 
pleasures has civilization procured to mankind ! " So the philos- 
opher exclaimed, and not without reason. The civilized man 
possesses manifold more enjoyments, and stands vastly higher in 
the scale of human beings, than the naked savage, or the rude 
barbarian. But it is not mere civilization, nor mere learning, 
that has imbued the heart with the genuine feeling of humanity. 



38 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

See, on the page of history only fifteen centuries back, the la- 
dies of Rome, that proud mistress of the world ; see them seated 
in the amphitheatre, as delighted spectators of the mortal com- 
bats of gladiators ; feasting their eyes with the bloody carnage, 
and their ears with the groans of the dying. And now see, on 
the other hand, tens and hundreds of thousands of females, of the 
present age, formed into societies for the alleviation of human dis- 
tress ; for the purpose of ministering to the widow, of sustaining 
the orphan, of clothing the naked, of feeding the hungry, or " heal- 
ing the broken and weak." Behold these objects of striking 
contrast ; and remember that the former had quite as much of 
polish, as much of elegance, and as much of learning as the lat- 
ter. And what is it then, but the influence of Christian principles, 
that has made such an astonishing difference between them, in 
point of taste and sensibility ? 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 39 



NUMBER VIII. 



"The nature of mankind is such, 

To see and judge of the affairs of others 
Much better than their own." 



The above-cited sentiment has not abated of its force, nor is 
it the less applicable to human nature at the present instant, 
though two thousand years have passed away, since it came from 
the pen of Terence, the poet of Carthage. In one respect, very 
few, if any, are altogether free from the imputation of making use 
of deception. It is one of the strange properties of our fallen 
nature, that we deceive ourselves, even more easily than we are 
deceived by others ; and, though we are mightily offended when 
others deceive us, we are pleased with the deception which we 
palm upon ourselves. We love flattery, because it enables us to 
flatter ourselves ; and we dislike honest reproof or censure, be- 
cause it impels us to fix our eyes upon our own fault or frailties. 



40 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

We weigh our own actions, and the actions of others, not in 
the same balance, or else with different kinds of weights. We 
judge ourselves and our neighbors by different rules, which al- 
ways gives the advantage to our own side. Imperfect we read- 
ily confess ourselves to be ; but if one happen to impute to us 
any particular imperfection, we deem ourselves insulted, and in- 
stantly take fire. Mortal we know we are, and yet seem scarcely to 
expect either death or sickness ; for these events, perhaps for the 
most part, come unawares. Probably there is not one well man in 
a hundred, who does not secretly think the fatal arrow more likely 
to hit almost any body else than himself. The young confidently 
expect they shall live to be old ; and the old, who have alreadjr 
seen one generation pass away, are not without hope that they 
shall survive the greater part of another. The mass of mankind are, 
in short, perpetually deluding themselves one way or other ; nor are 
the wisest and best quite free, in all respects, from self-delusion. 
Perhaps, if life were not, in any wise, gilded by the enchanting power 
of imagination, there would be little relish for most of those things, 
which God hath given us to enjoy under the sun. 

Avery ancient writer has told us of a poor laborer who, fancying 
himself a king, repaired daily to a hillock, where, as on his throne, 
he sat in state, and exercised regal authority over the imaginary 
subjects that surrounded him ; who, being at length cured of that 
pleasant error of the imagination, complained hard of his doctors, 
that they had physicked him back again to poverty. Nor is he 
a solitary instance. The most of mankind, in some period or 
other of their lives, have, perhaps, indulged vagaries of the imagi- 
nation, quite as groundless, if not quite so extravagant; and 
which, if they led them not astray from either duty or prudence, did 
them benefit, by sweetening their toils, and smoothing the path 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 41 

of life. The illusions of Hope (which no sooner is disappoint- 
ed, than it springs anew in the human breast) constitute a large 
portion of the earthly happiness of mankind, and are the main- 
spring of their exertions in worldly affairs. 

" Dream after dream ensues — 

And still they dream that they shall still succeed, 

And still are disappointed." 

However, speaking of worldly good only, their dreams afford 
them more satisfaction, than they ever find in realities. 

But when the illusion relates to the moral qualities of our 
hearts, flattering us that our vices are virtues, or, at least, that they 
are less culpable for being ours ; it is then that it is pregnant 
with infinite mischief. 

Of all human knowledge, self-knowledge is accounted the 
most difficult of attainment ; and why ? Assuredly, it is not 
so very difficult in itself. We are conscious, not only of 
our own actions, but also of the views and motives by which 
we are actuated. The thoughts and affections of our hearts are 
all open to our own inspection. Why, then, is it hard for one 
so far to know himself, as to be able to pencil his own true 
picture with considerable exactness ? The main difficulty arises 
from the blinding and deluding bias, that we have towards our- 
selves. It is by reason of this kind of sophistry, that, though 
we discern the mote in the eye of another, we perceive not the 
beam in our own ; — that, though we are clear-sighted quite enough 
with respect to the faults of our neighbors, we are as purblind as 
moles in regard to as great, or even greater faults in ourselves ; 
that, at best, we weigh our own faults with more than some grains 
of allowance, but those of every one else, excepting our particu- 
lar friends, without any allowance at all. Finally, to the same 



42 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

cause it is owing, that we magnify into shining virtues, such deeds 
of our own doing, as we should think but lightly of if done by 
persons in whom we had no particular interest. 

The sophistry, with which we cheat ourselves, runs into our 
social intercourse and our dealings. In estimating the charac- 
ters of those about us, we are apt to judge of them according to 
the particular bearings they have to our own dear selves. If they 
are near of kin, or close friends, our favoritism blinds us to their 
frailties, and magnifies in them every thing that has the appear- 
ance of excellence ; but if they are aliens from our hearts, we are 
apt enough to judge them with all that severity, which appearances 
can in any way justify. So, too, in matters of dealing, it is a 
hard thing, indeed, for one to determine right in one's own cause ; 
the opposite positions of mine and thine not unfrequently sway- 
ing men of honest intentions. For which reason it is, that in 
all the intercourse and business of life, the frequent use or appli- 
cation of the golden rule is, in point of morals, of such immeasu- 
rable importance ; since, in innumerable cases, it is only by 
changing places ideally with those we have concerns with, that 
we can know exactly how to do them justice. 

And not only is the daily application of that divine rule so 
necessary in all our business, but it is alike necessary in the man- 
agement of conflicting opinions. The free exercise of private 
judgment is, what every man claims for himself, and yet almost 
every man grudges it to others. And hence it is, that disputes 
upon matters of opinion are, so commonly, acrimonious. Where- 
as, if we were no less willing that others should enjoy the free 
exercise of private judgment, than to enjoy it ourselves, our dis- 
putes would be conducted with fairness, and good temper. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 43 



NUMBER IX. 

OF THE WIDE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WISDOM AND CUNNING. 

In one of the tragedies of Sophocles, there is an admirable moral, 
couched under the veil of heathen fable. 

Philoctetes, to whom Hercules had bequeathed his bow and 
arrows, went, with the other princes and chiefs of Greece, to the 
siege of Troy. He was son of the renowned Achilles, and no 
less distinguished for his valor than his birth. But, having 
been bit by a serpent, an incurable and most painful ulcer en- 
sued ; and his perpetual groans and lamentations disturbed and 
disheartened the whole Grecian camp. For this reason, the chief 
of that military confederacy had him conveyed to Lemnos, a 
desolate island, where he remained ten years, alone, and in into- 
lerable anguish. At the expiration of that time, it being* de- 
clared by an oracle, that Troy could never be conquered without 
the arrows of Hercules, then in the possession of Philoctetes, 
Ulysses and Neoptolemus were jointly sent to Lemnos to obtain 
them of him. 



44 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Ulysses, notorious above all men for craft and intrigue, and 
well knowing that Philoctetes bore the Greeks an implacable 
hatred for their barbarous usage of him, laid a cuuning plan to 
get the arrows from him by fraud, which he communicated to 
Neoptolemus, at the same time insisting that he should become 
the instrument of its^execution. Neoptolemus, who was a gene- 
rous-hearted young prince, is at first struck with horror at the 
base proposal, and says : 

" I was not born to flatter or betray, 

What open arms can do 

Behold me prompt to act, but ne'er to fraud 

Will I descend. 

King ! believe me, 



Rather, much rather, would I fall by virtue, 
Than rise by guilt to certain victory." 

Ulysses, however, (so easy is it for an arch deceiver to cor- 
rupt the integrity of an inexperienced youth,) gained his point 
at last, by his cunning sophistry, and honeyed persuasions ; 
and Neoptolemus submitted to an act of treachery which his soul 
abhorred. He first insinuated himself into the confidence of 
Philoctetes, by a train of falsehoods, and then robbed him of his 
arrows, which he bore off to the ship, that lay ready to sail back 
to the coast of Troy. But, reflecting afterward upon the base- 
ness of the deed, and stung with remorse and pity, he, notwith- 
standing the invectives and threats of Ulysses, went back and 
restored the arrows to Philoctetes. 

After all the arts of persuasion to induce Philoctetes to go 
to the siege of Troy, or at least to send his arrows thither, had 
been used in vain, and there seemed no possibility left that the 
point could be gained by any human means, Hercules descended 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 45 

from Leaven and effected what mere man could not do, a change 
of will in Plnloctetes, who then voluntarily went with Neoptole- 
mus to the Grecian camp, carrying with him his bow and arrows, 
and, by means of them, Troy was conquered. 

This, in short, is the moral of the fable : — Open and honest 
policy, aided by the powers above, was crowned, finally, with 
more complete success than could have been obtained by the 
deep-laid, fraudulent plan of the crafty Ulysses. 

The arts of falsehood and trick, whether on a large scale or 
a small one, are but foolishness, however subtilely managed. 

"The secret snare when Falsehood spreads, 
Herself she fetters in the subtile threads." 

Craft, partaking, as it does, of moral turpitude, which it per- 
petually strives to conceal, exposes itself by its very attempts at 
concealment, as the serpent tells us where to strike him by co- 
vering his head. Whether in the private or public walks of 
life — whether in the common intercourse between neighbors and 
fellow-citizens, or in the great concerns of princes and statesmen 
— an honest policy will be found to wear best. Our great and 
beloved Washington, whom Heaven crowned with such marvel- 
lous suceess, had nothing of the craft of Ulysses. With a mind 
good as it was great, he sought noble ends by honest means — by 
means that he could never blush to own. He was admirable for 
his real, unsophisticated wisdom ; for the wisdom that soared 
above the base arts of intrigue, and which was without guile, 
without hypocrisy. 

u Cunning," says Mr. Locke, in his excellent treatise on Edu- 
cation — " cunning, which is the ape of wisdom, is the most dis- 
tant from it that can be ; and as an ape, for the likeness it has 



46 THE BRIEF JtEMARKER 

to a man, wanting what really should make him so, is by so much 
the uglier; cunning is only the want of understanding; which, 
because it cannot compass its ends by direct ways, would do it 
by trick and circumvention. No cover was ever made either so 
big or so fine as to hide itself. None were ever so cunning as 
to conceal their being so." 

There are few particulars in which mankind more often mis- 
judge than in this. They are apt to think that the artful and 
unprincipled, because they display considerable cunning, are of 
course men of superior parts ; whereas, generally speaking, their 
minds are narrow. You will seldom find one of them possessed 
of true clearness and largeness of understanding. 

So again, many a doting father is secretly gratified with the 
slyness and the fox-like tricks of his boy ; when, in reality, he 
has all reason to apprehend that the boy is getting to be a con- 
firmed villain in grain, and will have a genius for nothing else. 

The fox is the most noted of any of the inferior animals for 
craft and roguery ; yet the fox is one of the most miserable of 
all the brute creation. He has not a friend upon earth. The 
honester dog hunts and attacks him with peculiar malice. Every 
four-footed animal seems to bear him a grudge ; the weaker shun 
him, and the stronger pursue him. The very birds, knowing his 
knavish craft, hover in the air oyer him, and seem to express 
their apprehensions and their hatred. They alight upon the 
trees and hedges, as he is slyly creeping along the ground be- 
neath, and with loud cries and chatterings, give warning of his 
approach, as who should say, u yonder goes a cunning, beguiling, 
greedy rogue — take special care of yourselves." And thus, also, 
it fares with those of Adam's children who have much cunning, 
but no principle of honesty. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 47 



NUMBER X. 



OF THE TEMPORAL ADVANTAGES OF UPRIGHTNESS OF CHARACTER. 



" My son, sow not upon the furrows of unrighteousness." 

Advice of the son o/Sirach. 



Dr. Franklin, founding his theory upon the principle that the 
human body is specifically lighter than water, tells us, in sub- 
stance, that one fallen into that element might escape drowning, 
for some considerable time at least, were he to abstain from 
struggling and plunging, and to let his body down with the feet 
foremost, remaining thus in a perpendicular position, except 
throwing his head as far back as possible ; because in that posi- 
tion, the face would be quite above the surface of the water. 

This prescription, or direction from the venerable Doctor, 
who knew, as well as any man, how to keep his own head above wa- 
ter, is, of itself, or in its plain literal import, well worth the be- 
ing held in remembrance. But craving indulgence for the li- 
cense, I mean, withal, to make an analogical use of it. 

Young men, as soon as they are entitled to the rights of per- 



48 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

sonal independence, launch out in what is figuratively called the 
ocean of life. Indeed we are, all of us, on that ocean ; some 
in deeper, and others in shoaler water ; some going forward 
smoothly with the tide, and others having the tide against them ; 
sometimes we have fair wind and weather, and at other times we 
are under a dark sky, and assailed with tempestuous winds, that 
raise aloft the foaming billows. 

What then is the safest way, at all times, and for persons of 
all ranks and conditions? It is told in only three words; — 
Mind the perjoenclicalar. Many a young man, and many a man 
not young, have I seen ingulfed and lost, not by reason of his 
wantiDg skill and alertness, but because he failed to keep himself 
in a perpendicular attitude ; whereas, on the other hand, never 
did I see a single one totally submerged, who had always been 
duly careful in that particular. 

If, even, there were nothing to hope or fear beyond the 
grave, honesty would be the best policy ; inasmuch as it carries 
one through this world with most safety, in the long run, as well 
as with honor. li He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely." 
He travels in a plain and safe path ; a fair character is his pass- 
port, and the laws of society are his protection. As long as a 
man holds fast his integrity, he cannot be quite undone ; for 
though, by adverse gusts he be sadly plunged, his face will still 
be above water. Though he should suffer the loss of all things 
else, yet the consciousness of strict integrity will buoy him up, 
and the knowledge that others have of his integrity, will give him 
a chance to repair his broken fortunes, or, at the least, will secure 
him that good name, which is " better than precious ointment.' 1 

On the contrary, " he that perverteth his way shall be known/' 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 49 

Though deceit and knavishness may sometimes procure mo- 
mentary advantages, they are but momentary, and are much more 
than countervailed by the lasting ill consequences, which they 
never fail to bring after them. For not only does dishonesty 
draw after it many inward disquietudes, but it lays one under 
very heavy disadvantages, with respect to his intercourse with 
the world. Notwithstanding all his arts of cunning, it will be 
known ; and when a man's character is of that sort, as to fill with 
suspicions every one that knows him, even his honest acts will 
be thought to spring from base motives, or to have some dark de- 
sign. It will be suspected that the plague of leprosy still re- 
mains, either " in the warp or in the woof." 

It greatly behooves young men to form fixed resolutions, at 
the outset of life, never to swerve from the perpendicular, in a 
single instance, — no, not even in the most trivial one ; for one 
trespass against the laws of honesty leads to another, as it were 
by a sort of natural and necessary connection. So that, though 
there be many who, in their intercourse with the world, have 
never been guilty of one dishonest act, yet there are few who 
have been guilty of one, and but one. Because the first, by 
compromising the moral principle, weakens the power of resist- 
ing the next temptation ; because one knavish deed often re- 
quires another, and sometimes several others, to cover it ; and 
lastly, because rooted knavishness of heart is harder of cure 
than any other moral malady, inasmuch as the corruption of the 
principle of integrity is the corruption of the very source of all 
moral virtue. 

He that has seen a rogue in grain, a thoroughly practised 
rogue, turn to a downright honest man, has at least seen one 
marvellous thing. 



50 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEE XI. 

AX EXEMPLIFICATION OF TEEE CHRISTIAN HONESTY. 

The following line of Pope, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God" — 

has been pronounced unworthy of that celebrated poet, forasmuch 
as honesty is but a vulgar virtue, as common to the meanest, as 
to the greatest abilities. Honesty, though commendable, is so 
far from being one of the noblest of human qualities, that the 
honest man may, nevertheless, be but a plain simple man, of con- 
tracted intellect, of very little education, and of a low condition. 
This the noblest work of G-od ! Fy upon such nonsense ! 

Now, to adjust this matter between the poet and the critic, it 
will be necessary to take a cursory view of the different stand- 
ards of honesty, according to one or other of which reputedly 
honest men square their conduct, and of the different principles, 
by which they are governed. 

Men, sometimes, act honestly from policy, rather than from 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 51 

a principle of probity. They believe, and believe aright, that 
" honesty is the best policy." According to this sound maxim 
they mean to act, and they greatly find their account in it. 
In short, none are wiser in their generation than those who are 
honest altogether from policy. While carefully minding to 
keep themselves within the hedge of the law, they, without 
mercy or pity, take every advantage that the law will let them. 
They escape the infamy and punishment, which commonly befall 
the impolitic wights, who are versed in the black art of down- 
right roguery. Thus they walk in a plain and safe path. An 
honest reputation is their passport, and the laws of society are 
their protection. These are your hard honest men, who are 
honest merely for their own safety and profit, and are just as self- 
ish in their honesty as in every thing else. True enough, the 
poet is worthy of reprehension, if he meant them. But, though 
the fear of disgrace or punishment, and the desire of a fair char- 
acter may give birth to a creditable, but contracted and spurious 
kind of honesty, which has in it nothing of the dignity of virtue ; 
yet the truly honest man, however low in circumstances, or mean 
in parts, is one of Virtue's nobility. 

The truly honest man would be just as honest without law, 
as with it. Guided by the paramount authority of conscience, 
he neither withholds aught, nor exacts aught on the mere plea, 
that civil law is on his side. 

The truly honest is he, who makes it a cardinal point to do 
to others, as he would be done unto ; and who decides with 
justice, when self-interest and justice are in opposite scales. 

The truly honest man is never ostentatious of his honesty. 
Ostentation of it is always an ill sign; it looks like putting on 
a patch to hide a blemish. 



52 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

But enough of definition. One good example is worth a 
score of definitions : and the following example, all will allow to 
be a good one. The anecdote is given in St Pierre's Studies 
of Nature. 

" In the last war in Germany, a captain of the cavalry was 
ordered out on a foraging party. He put himself at the head 
of his troop, and marched to the quarter assigned him. It 
was a solitary valley, in which hardly any thiDg but woods could 
be seen. In the midst of it stood a little cottage ; on perceiv- 
ing it, he went up and knocked at the door ; out comes an ancient 
Hernouten, with a beard silvered by age. c Father,' says the 
officer, ' show me a field where I can set my troops a foraging. 7 
1 Presently,' replied the Hernouten. The good old man walked 
before, and conducted them out of the valley. After a quar- 
ter of an hour's march, they found a fine field of barley. * There 
is the very thing we want.' says the captain. ' Have patience 
for a few minutes,' replied his guide, -and you shall be satisfied.' 
They went on, and at the distance of about a quarter of a league 
farther, they arrived at another field of barley. The troop 
immediately dismounted, cut down the grain, trussed it up, and 
remounted. The officer, upon this, says to his conductor, c Fa- 
ther, you have given yourself and us unnecessary trouble ; the 
first field was much better than this.' ( Yery true, sir,' re- 
plied the good old man, ( but it is not mine.' " 

Such an example of honesty, I repeat, is worth a score Of 
definitions. Here we have not an abstract notion of honesty, 
but we see it, as it were, embodied. Here we behold the ex- 
press form and visage of genuine, Christian honesty, acting on 
the principle of loving one's neighbor as one's self. And what 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 5 



o 



though the exemplar was an obscure and a lowly man, distin- 
guished neither for parts nor learning ? In the moral frame 
of his mind there was a nobleness of heavenly origin ; a noble- 
ness far superior to eminent natural parts, which belong alike 
to the best, and the worst of human beings. 

Compare this humble Hernouten, or Moravian, with the illus- 
trious chieftains who figured in that German war, and whose 
bloody deeds are emblazoned on the page of history. Compare 
his disinterestedness with their selfishness ; his philanthropy with 
their greedy avarice, and fell ambition ; his tender and scrupu- 
lous regard to the rights of his neighbor, with their unfeeling- 
spirit of plunder and rapine ; — and judge which party is enti- 
tled to stand higher on the scale of genuine honor. 

One of the best religious confessions extant is that of Zac- 
cheus, a rich publican, who, probably, had been not a little dis- 
honest and extortionous : — " Lord, one half of my goods I give to 
the poor, and if I have taken any thing from any man by false 
accusation, I restore him fourfold." This is practical ortho- 
doxy. 



54 THE BEIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XII. 

OF THE PEE VAILING HABIT OF PEOMISE-BE EASING IN COMMON 

DEALING. 

In the polite world, forms of speech are used, which are not 
meant to be understood according to their obvious meaning. 
For instance, when one man says or writes to another, Your hum- 
ble servant, or, Your most obedient, he intends not to bind him- 
self to clean the boots of the one he thus addresses, or to do him 
any sort of menial service ; and much less does he mean that he is 
ready and willing to yield him obedience, in all cases whatsoever. 
It is hardly worth while, however, to enlarge on this topic, as the 
aforesaid forms of speech have almost become obsolete, at least 
in these United States. Pledges of humble service, and pas- 
sive obedience, mutually given in the interchange of civilities, 
are now as rare in this country, as they were once common. This 
is no matter of regret ; for it is not a flower that has been plucked 
up, but a weed. 

But there is one other form of words, which seems to have 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 55 

come into general abuse, over this whole country ; and the more 
is the pity, as these last are words of grave import, as well as of 
obvious sense : I mean the phrase, so abundantly used, — I prom- 
ise to pay. In other times, these words were passed with timid 
caution, and when passed they were held sacred ; but they are 
now coming to be words of mere form, meaning nothing ; very 
like the old complimentary phrases, — Your humble servant — 
Your most obedient. Not but that the promisee always interprets 
the text as of old, according to its literal or expressed meaning. 
But the promiser perverts the text, that he may accommodate it to 
his own heterodox notions ; or, rather, after the Komish doctrine 
of mental reservation, he mentally interpolates the word — never 
— making it run thus ; — I promise (neve?') to pay. 

It would be endless to recount all the mischiefs that are 
flowing in upon society from this prevailing heresy ; nor is it 
needful, since most of them are too obvious to escape notice. 
Wherefore, not to mention the sore disappointments, the indig- 
nant heart-burnings, daily arising, in ten thousand instances, 
from this single source ; nor yet to mention its destructive influ- 
ence upon all confidence between man and man : — passing over 
these topics, and others akin to them, I shall consider the mat- 
ter merely as it affects the interests of the delinquent party. 

Be it supposed that he is a man, possessed of several estima- 
ble qualities; that he has a large stock of what is called good 
nature ; that he is obliging and compassionate ; that, in the main, 
he is a moral man ; and, finally, that there is no apparent blem- 
ish in his character, save this alone. — Give the delinquent all 
these good qualities, and yet u the dead fly, in the precious oint- 
ment," spoils the whole compound. 



56 THE BRIEF REMARKED 

There is a smack of immorality in every instance of volunta- 
ry word breaking ; and in this, as in every other vice, one step 
naturally leads to another. The good-natured man, who has 
neglected to fulfil his promise, is fain to cast about him for an 
excuse, and if he cannot find one he makes one. 

This can hardly be done for the first, or second time, without 
a considerable struggle with moral principle. But it soon be- 
comes feasible, and as natural, almost, as to breathe. In the 
process of this ill habit, he quite loses his moral feelings as re- 
spects strict veracity ; and almost every day he lives, he deals 
in fiction without any sort of compunction. 

Neither is this all ; he is the occasion of falsehood to others. 
He steps over to one of his neighbors, to borrow. His neigh- 
bor respects him for his sundry good qualities, but knows well 
the particular infirmity of his character. He is loth to lose his 
friend, and quite as loth to hazard his money. What does he 
do ? He, also, proceeds to frame fictitious excuses. " I am 
very sorry, sir, that it is not in my power to oblige you. There 
is no man living, that I should be more ready to serve ; but — 
but — ," and then out comes the excuse, lie and all. 

The man who makes it his general practice to shuffle off, as 
much as possible, the payment of his honest debts, not only for- 
feits all claims upon the confidence of society, but loses a main 
portion of self-respect. He often meets with fellow-beings, 
with whom he cannot so much as interchange the customary sal- 
utation, without enduring the feelings of self-abasement, and in 
conversing with whom he is compelled, as it were, to have re- 
course to prevarication and quibble. 

And what does he gain by it, in his secular affairs ? Noth- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 57 

ing at all. He is a loser even there. If he frequently suffers 
the compulsory process of law, he is a ruined man. Or if he 
procrastinate, till he has quite exhausted the patience of his credi- 
tors, and then pays, seemingly rather to avoid the expense of 
law than from an honest principle, still he loses that credit, 
which, to his secular affairs, might be an incalculable benefit ; 
and in seasons of pressing emergency, if he have not sufficient 
resources in himself, he can find them nowhere. 

A strict regard to one's word or promise, is one of the first 
of social virtues. Wherefore, young men, who are entering, 
or have just entered the threshold of business, would do well to 
keep in. memory the following maxims. Be as careful of tak- 
ing, as of giving credit. Never run in debt beyond what, 
you have a moral certainty, or, at least, a reasonable prospect 
of being able to pay in season. Never defer payment when it 
is needed, and you have the power to make it. 



58 THE BEIEF EEMAEKEK 



XUMBEK XIII. 

OF THE HEAVY TAX LAID TJPOX ALL WOKLDLY EMIXEXCE. 

The following advisory monition of an inspired prophet, to 
his dear and familiar friend, contains a volume of instruction : 
— " And seekest thou great things for thyself 1 Seek tliem, 
not" — Nothing is more certain than the vanity of human 
greatness, not only by reason of its being transitory and per- 
ishable, but, also, because it is often accompanied with much 
more than an ordinary share of trouble and vexation. 

If we first consider the first and greatest of all worldly dis- 
tinctions — I mean extraordinary gifts of nature — even these, for 
the most part, are heavily taxed by the impartial hand of the 
Griver. The few geniuses (few, indeed, in comparison to the 
number of those who lay claim to that high distinction), so far 
from being the happiest, are often the most wretched of mortals. 
The irritableness and spleen of distinguished authors, and espe- 
cially of poets, are proverbial. The same texture, and tone of 
the system, which qualify them for soaring into the regions of 
fancy, and for paintng nature in all her hues, do utterly disqual 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 59 

ify them, at least in many instances, for enjoying, in an equal 
measure with the rest of mankind, the common comforts and bless- 
ings of life ; not to mention the bitterness of rivalry, and the 
torments of jealousy, which they are fated to feel and endure. 
So that, as regards ease and comfort, plain common sense, with 
controlled passions, is better, by far, than genius, when taxed, as 
it so often is, with morbid sensibility, and with passions, violent 
and ungovernable. 

The greatest Beauties are seldom the most amiable, the most 
discreet and respectable, or the most happy of women ; while, 
not rarely, their very beauty has been their ruin. 

And, indeed, if we were to make a general survey of the ex- 
traordinary gifts of nature, and to weigh together, in an even 
balance, their advantages and disadvantages, as respects the com- 
fort of the possessors, we should find that, in many instances, if 
not in most, the latter are fully equal to the former. 

Neither are the gifts of fortune exempt from heavy and 
grievous taxation. Vast wealth brings upon its possessor a 
load of incessant care ; generates dispositions and feelings in- 
compatible with quiet enjoyment ; and often makes profligates of 
her children. Nay, even Power, that idol of human ambition, 
— even Power, — for which riches, themselves, are chiefly covet- 
ed, — is often accompanied with more of vexation than of substan- 
tial enjoyment. Royalty, itself, has its disquietudes, and dire 
vexations. Mary, Queen of England, and joint partner in the 
throne, in a letter to her husband. William the Third, then in Ire- 
land, thus pathetically describes the troubles of her exalted sta- 
tion. — " I must see company on set days. I must laugh and 
talk, though never so much against my will. I must grin 



60 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

when my heart is ready to break ; and talk, when my heart is so 
oppressed, that I can scarce breathe. All my motions are 
watched, and all I do so observed, that, if I eat less, or speak 
less, or look more grave, all is lost in the opinion of the world." 
— How unenviable is such a lot as this, and, yet, how envied ! 

While on a time I was reading, in General Lee's memoirs, 
that Washington, when speaking on the subject of death, used 
often to declare, that he would not repass his life, were it in his 
option — while reading this extraordinary passage, I was touched 
with a momentary surprise. What ! methought, can it be so ? 
The man whose life was covered with glory, beyond that of al- 
most any other mortal, — could he be unwilling to travel over 
again the same brilliant path, and to enjoy anew the same high 
honors ? Could he find such a life tedious and irksome % A 
few moments' reflection was sufficient, however, to convince me, 
that the thing was neither incredible nor wonderful. In the 
seven years' war, and the eight years of his administration, his 
solicitude and anxiety, lest haply, by some improper step, he 
should commit the interests of his country, far outweighed, in all 
probability, every thing of real enjoyment, that mere human 
power and greatness can bestow. Nor is it unreasonable to 
think, that, during those fifteen anxious years, many a day-labor- 
er, — nay, many a menial servant enjoyed a greater portion of un- 
alloyed worldly comfort, than did the illustrious man, whom the 
world held in such admiration. 

The object of the foregoing train of reflections is not, at all, 
to decry Genius, or Beauty, or Riches, or Power ; but, rather, 
to show that man or woman, in moderate circumstances, and un- 
gifted with any uncommon endowments, may be quite as happy 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 61 

without these splendid distinctions, as those arc who possess 
them. For the enjoyment of every essential comfort that this 
world can afford, there is need only of health and competence, 
together with a contented mind, a pure conscience, and a thank- 
ful heart. 

Between the periods of birth and burial how short a space ! 
How very soon will come the time, when, with all the vast con- 
gregation now treading this stage of mortality, no distinctions 
but of the moral kind will remain ! 



62 THE BRIEF BEMAEKER 



NUMBER XIV. 

OF THE INESTIMABLE YALUE OF A PIOUS, DISCREET, AND FAITHFUL 

MOTHEE . 

It has been often observed, that some of the most illustrious of 
human characters were early moulded to the model of excel- 
lence by the maternal hand. Of this I might adduce, from the 
records of history, a goodly number of instances ; but, for the 
present, I shall mention only one. 

Sir Philip Sidney — born about the middle of the sixteenth 
century — was the wonder of the age in which he lived ; for 
though he died when a little more than thirty years old, his fame, 
as a wise and profound statesman, was spread over Europe. 

Nor was he less distinguished for religious and moral virtues, 
and particularly for generosity and tenderness of nature. It 
has been remarked of him, that " the most beautiful event of 
his life was his death." 

Receiving a mortal wound in a battle in Flanders, the mo- 
ment after he was wounded, when thirsty with the excess of 
bleeding, he turned away the water from his own lips, to give it 



OH THE WAYS OF MAX. 63 

to a dying soldier, with these words ; " Thy necessity is still 
greater than mine." 

This extraordinary man was indebted, for the rudiments of 
his education, to his illustrious and excellent mother, the eldest 
daughter of the Duke of Northumberland, who, in a preceding 
reign, had been beheaded. " Her tender melancholy, occasioned 
by the tragical events in her faniity, together with the mischance 
of sickness that had impaired her beauty, inclined her to hide 
herself from the gay world, and to bestow her attentions almost 
exclusively upon the education of her children." " It was her 
delight," says a biographer of Sir Philip, " to form their early 
habits ; to instil into their tender minds the principles of religion 
and virtue : to direct their passions to proper objects : to super- 
intend not only their serious occupations, but even their amuse- 
ments." 

Had not the loftiness of the house of Northumberland been 
fallen : had Lady Mary, the eldest daughter of that house, been 
a leader of fashion at the royal court — a distinction to which 
her rank would fully have entitled her; her Philip would, in no 
probability, have been the exalted character that he was. 

To see a mother, herself accomplished, and capable of shin- 
ing in the first circles of fashionable life : — to see her forego the 
pleasure of amusement, and the ambition of show, for the sake 
of bestowing personal attentions upon her children ; to see her 
spend the best of her days in fashioning their minds and man- 
ners upon the purest models, guiding them with discretion, and 
alluring them to the love of excellence alike by precept and ex- 
ample ; to see this is to behold one of the most charming spec- 
tacles, any where furnished in this fallen world. 



64 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

And what though it be not in the power of such a mother 
to make a Philip Sidney of her son ? What though nature has 
gifted her children with no uncommon strength, or brightness of 
intellect ? Yet with the divine blessing, she may have such in- 
fluence upon the moral frame of their young and tender minds, 
that they shall be disposed to improve their natural talents, what- 
ever they may be, and to employ them honorably. The benefits, 
in this respect, which highly capable mothers might confer on 
their children, during a few of the first years of their earthly 
existence, are far beyond the power of calculation, since these 
benefits would, probably, descend from one generation to an- 
other, down to distant posterity. " Delightful task ! " In com- 
parison with the pure and sublime enjoyment, which the faithful 
performance of it gives, poor and wretched, indeed, is the whole 
sum of pleasure, that can possibly be extracted from the amuse- 
ments of fashion. 

Lamentable, however, would be the condition of things in 
this respect, if either wealth, or rank, or superior talents, or any 
great degree of literary acquirements were indispensably neces- 
sary in a mother, to fit her for the noble and all-important task, 
which that relation devolves upon her. So far from it, a woman 
of mere plain sense, whose reading extends but little beyond 
the divine volume that contains our holy religion, and whose 
worldly circumstances are narrow, and even indigent, is capable, 
nevertheless, of conferring unspeakable benefits upon her little 
ones. As she is the first in their hearts, so, in their esteem, she 
is the first of women. Her example is their model; they copy 
her ways ; they hang upon her lips. The moral and religious 
love, inculcated with maternal tenderness by her, they never 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN, G5 

quite forget ; and very often, it is the means of forming their 
characters for life. 

Precious is the mother, whether of high, or low degree, who, 
in this respect, acts the real mother, to the best of her abilities. 
Hardly can she fail of stamping upon the minds of her children 
some salutary impressions, which will never be quite effaced. 
Except in the rare instances of most unnatural perverseness, their 
hearts will ever cleave to her. They will not forsake her when 
she is old. Their filial kindnesses will soothe and solace the 
infirmities and decay of her age. And when she is called " to 
put off the mortal, and to put on the immortal clothing," the 
genuine expression of their hearts will be, — " "We loved, but not 
enough, the gentle hand that reared us. — Gladly would we now 
recall that softest friend, a mother, whose mild converse, and 
faithful counsel we in vain regret." 



66 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEE XV. 

TRUTHS SAID OF BOYS, WHICH BOYS WILL NE'ER BELIEVE. 

Our life is beset with perils at every step, but no period of 
it is, perhaps, quite so perilous as that, in which the boy is step- 
ping into manhood. Then it is that his feeling is fervid, his 
hope vivid, and his self-confidence at the highest. Then it is, 
that he listens with most rapture to the voice of the siren, that 
his heart is most susceptible to the allurements of pleasure ; 
and it is then, that he spurns alike the trammels of restraint, 
and the counsels of friendship. 

Untaught by experience, he despises the experience of others ; 
wise in his own conceit, he scorns the monitions of age and ri- 
per judgment ; full of himself, he perceives no need of direction 
or advice, and regards it as an insult to his understanding. He 
feels a sentiment of indignation and disdain toward those, who 
should presume to teach him how to behave. His sense is 
deceived, " his soul is in a dream, he is fully confident that he 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 67 

sees things clearly, and yet he sees them in a false mirror, ex- 
actly such as they are not." 

Nor is it, always, the youth of the least promise, that are in 
the most danger. So far otherwise, those of forward parts, of 
lively imaginations, and of strong passions withal, are in peculiar 
hazard during those green years, in which is the critical period 
of transition from the condition of boys to that of men. The 
very qualities, that distinguish them and set them above their 
fellows, diminish the likelihood of their establishing a sober staid- 
ness of character, and, ofttimes, are the means of launching them 
into the whirlpool of dissipation, where all is lost ; where repu- 
tation, morals, and whatever is estimable in human beings, are 
all ingulfed together. 

How many instances do the perilous times, we live in, fur- 
nish — how many deplorable instances of hopeful boys, abandoned 
and lost ere they were out of their teens I And by how much 
the more their parents had doted upon them, by so much the 
more are their hearts wrung with anguish. 

Far less is the danger, for the most part, while the immature 
youth remains under the parental roof, or in " the well-ordered 
home." There he finds it not so easy to shake off salutary re- 
straints ; there he needs must feel some respect for the opinion 
of the society, in whose bosom he was born and educated, some 
reverence of parental authority, and some regard to the feelings of 
near kindred. But when he leaves the haven of home, and is 
pushed off into the stream of life, it is more than an even chance 
that he will founder in the stream, if he have not previously been 
under the governance of moral and religious principle. In his new 
situation it often happens, that he finds new enticements to lead 



68 THE BRIEF EEMAEKER 

him astray, and, at the same time, feels himself loosened from 
the authority and influences which had, heretofore, repressed his 
wayward propensities ; and if vicious, but genteel and artful com- 
panions get the first hold of him, his ruin is, in all probability, 

sealed. 

It was in clear view of these affecting circumstances, that 

the celestial poet, Cowper, penned the following lines: 
" My boy, the unwelcome hour has come, 



When thou, transplanted from thy genial home, 
Must find a colder soil and bleaker air, 
And trust for safety to a stranger's care." 

It is hard to mourn over the death, but it is, sometimes, still 
harder to mourn over the life of a beloved child. When pa- 
rents see the one who, they had expected, would be found the 
solace of their age, the honor of their family, and an ornament 
to society — when they see him, at the instant of their highest 
hopes, turn to the ways of folly ; no heart but a heart thus exer- 
cised, can conceive the sharpness of the pang. This is sorrow 
indeed ; and that the best they can do to prevent it, or, rather, all 
they can do, is to lay themselves out, in good earnest, to train up 
their children in the way they should go. 

Good education is the thing in the world, the most impor- 
tant and desirable, but it is of wider scope than most people ima- 
gine. What is called learning, is only a part of it, and so far 
from being the most essential part, it is but the husk. In vain 
will you employ your endeavors to educate your children, un- 
less you give seed to the heart, as well as culture to the under- 
standing; unless you make their moral frame, the subject of 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 69 

your assiduous and well-directed care ; unless you take, at least, 
as much pains to make them well-principled and of virtuous man- 
ners, as to make them shine in learning and accomplishments : 
for intellectual improvement, if their morals be neglected, will 
tend to render them wise only to do evil. If you train up 
your boy to a strict regard to truth, honesty, and integrity, and 
to a deep reverence for all that is sacred ; if you train him up 
in habits of industry, temperance, and love of order ; — it is then, 
and only then, you can reasonably expect, that he will pass through 
the perilous crisis before him uncontaminated, and that his man- 
hood will be crowned with honor. 



70 



THE BRIEF EEMARKER 



NUMBER XVI. 



OF THE CONTEMPT OF WOMANKIND. 



" When pain and sickness wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou." 



Scott. 



The man, who expresses or feels a general contempt of wo- 
mankind, evinces thereby, either that his acquaintance has been 
mostly with the baser sort, or that his heart is devoid of the com- 
mon sensibilities of our nature. A satire upon Woman ! It 
is revolting; it is dastardly and brutish. Individuals are de- 
serving of the lash of satire, but not the species. Of women, 
as well as of men, there are the artful and treacherous, the un- 
feeling and cruel, the mischievous, the disgusting, the abomina- 
ble. — The sex, nevertheless, is entitled to a high degree of re- 
spect, esteem and love. 

Of one, in the dark ages, who was the gloomiest of bigots, 
and the most ruthless of persecutors, it is recorded that " ho 
never looked in the face of a woman, or spoke to one." 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 71 

In like manner, 

" aside the devil turned," 



when the first of female forms presented itself before him. Wo- 
man was, " the last, best gift," to man ; moulded out of that part 
of his flesh and bone, w T hich lay nearest the heart. And what 
though she was first in the transgression ? Was she not prin- 
cipal, also, in the restoration ? And when the Divine Restorer, 
born of a woman, was in poverty and need, who were they that 
ministered to him ? Women. When the disciples had fled 
through fear, who stood by, and so deeply sympathized in his last 
agonies, undismayed by the ferocious countenances of the mur- 
derous throng ? Women. Who so affectionately prepared the 
embalming spicery, and were the first to visit the sacred tomb % 
Women. To whom have all the after generations been most in- 
debted for the pious culture of infancy and childhood ? To 
women. The Eternal Wisdom has, if I may use the expres- 
sion, cast the minds of the two sexes in different moulds, each being 
destined to act in a sphere peculiarly its own. 

" For contemplation he, and valor form'd, 
For softness she, and sweet attractive grace," 

The one is destined and fitted for the more active and peril- 
ous scenes ; the other for the duties and trials of domestic life ; 
the one to protect, the other to lean on the arm of her protect- 
or; the one to exhibit the sterner virtues, the other the miller; 
the one possessing more of active courage ; and the other, more 
of fortitude, of resignation, of unweariable patience, and more of 
the benevolent affections. This is nature's distinctive line. 



72 THE BKIEF EEMARKER 

which 5 on the part of female character, can never be overleaped, 
without producing disgust or ridicule. Hence it is, that, of all 
affectation, none is more displeasing than a woman's affecting the 
spirit and manners of the other sex. "We have a sort of admi- 
ration of the heroic intrepidity of the Spartan women ; of their 
contempt of danger; of the stoical apathy, or rather the exulta- 
tion, with which they received the news of their sons and hus- 
bands dying bravely in battle. We admire them as prodigies, 
but neither love, nor esteem them as women. And why is it 
that the atheistical ivoman is regarded with such singular hor 
ror ? Why is the foul oath, the heaven-daring blasphemy, doubly 
horrible in the ear of decency, when proceeding from the lips 
of woman ? It is because we contrast the outrage with the at- 
tributes of timidity, gentleness, delicacy and sensibility, belong- 
ing more peculiarly to her sex. 

One of the most deplorable wants in woman, is the want of 
heart ; the want of genuine sensibility, of the radical affection of 
sympathy and benevolence. It is a want, which neither beau- 
ty, nor wit, nor the rarest accomplishments of person or mind 
can, by any means, compensate. On the other hand, the most 
attractive graces of the female character are not the artificial 
and showy ones ; but those of a meek and quiet spirit, and of be- 
neficent dispositions, guided by moral principle and the discretion 
of sound sense : — in a word, graces, the same that our holy reli- 
gion inculcates and inspires. 

In the fair daughters of Eve, domestic excellence is the pre- 
dominating excellence ; in comparison with which all the orna- 
ments, that literature or manners can bestow, are as tinsel com- 
pared with fine gold. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 73 

How much soever woman contributes to refine and amplify 
the innocent pleasures of health and prosperity, yet still more 
doth she contribute, when she acts the woman, to alleviate the 
pains of adversity. In our sickness and sorrows, she is indeed as 
u a ministering angel/' What heart else is so sympathetic? 
What hand else is so soothing ? Who watches by the sick bed 
with most care, with most assiduity, with the most inexhaustible 
patience ? Who, in spite of feebleness of frame, foregoes sleep, 
and patiently endures a course of remitless watchings of incred- 
ible length ? Who, so often, devotes life, and the pleasures* of 
life to the needs of a helpless parent ? to the solitary chamber of 
decrepit age ? It is woman ; — the well-educated, the enlighten- 
ed, the Christian woman. 



74 THE BEIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XVII. 

OF THE INCEEASE OF CONSEQUENCE OEDINAEILY GIVEN A MAN BY 

MAE EYING. 

Families are clusters of little commonwealths, which can hardly 
subsist without government, and whose well-being depends great- 
ly upon the manner, in which they are governed. 

The ruler of a family, with respect to the children, belong- 
ing to his household and under his care, stands in the relation of 
a magistrate. A sort of magistrate he is, of very ample powers ; 
for he is clothed at once, in a certain measure, with legislative, 
judicial, and executive authority. 

In this character, it concerns him to act with the utmost im- 
partiality. To be partial is to be unjust ; and the injustice 
being perceived and deeply felt, (as it scarcely ever fails to be,) 
discontent, heart-burnings, and bitter murmurings will ensue. 
Favoritism is the bane of government, in the smallest communi- 
ties, as well as in the largest. And look ! often it is the favorite 
child, that wrings the hearts of the doting parents ; and no less 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 75 

often the child, that shared least in their regards, comes, at last. 
to be the solace and the prop of their declining years. 

It behooves, that the ruler of a family establish no domestic 
rules and laws, but such as are reasonable in themselves, and 
conducive to the real good and welfare of the little community 
he governs. Else he acts the part of a tyrant; and one, who is 
a tyrant in his own house, would be a tyrant over millions, if he 
had it in his power. 

As the laws for his household should be enacted with all the 
prudence and forethought he is master of, so, also, they should 
be executed with discretion and cool judgment. What would be 
thought of a judge, who should proceed to pass a penal sentence 
without conviction, or without giving a patient hearing and a fair 
trial, or who should fly into a violent passion upon the judgment- 
seat, and foam with rage while in the act of passing sentence ? 
Every one would think him utterly unfit for his place, and would 
cry out, — shame upon him ! Now the ruler of a family acts as 
a judge ; while the party, arraigned before him, has neither the 
benefit of counsel, nor the privilege of trial by jury. In these 
circumstances, it is peculiarly fit and necessary, that the judge 
should not act passionately, but with cool deliberation. 

Paternal magistracy must be supported by general decency 
of behavior, or, inevitably, it will fall into contempt. It is an 
old Latin maxim, " Maxima debetur pueris reverentia, — in Eng- 
lish," Very great respect is due to children. Parents must respect 
themselves, in the presence of their children. A governor, or a 
justice of a court, who respects not himself by a steady observ- 
ance of the laws of decency, brings his office and authority into 
contempt : and it is so in domestic government. Nor does the 



76 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

requisite decorum of parental authority, at all, imply moroseness 
and habitual sternness. So far otherwise, the father who is 
courteous and affable, and, in a proper manner, even intimate 
with his children, increases, by it, their esteem and respect, as well 
as their love. 

A unit standing alone, however great a unit it be, is still the 
least of numbers ; but place it in close alliance with another unit 
and, instantly, there is produced the respectable number 11. 

Ordinarily, a man multiplies his importance in society by 
marrying. Instantly, he multiplies the number of his kindred ; 
the relations of his wife being to him, as his own. The circle of 
friendly acquaintance is enlarged, by the addition of those, with 
whom she had been in the habits of friendship. It is now, that 
society begins to have fast hold of him ; and it is now, that he, 
himself, begins to cling to society in earnest. He is no longer a 
citizen at large, whose home is everywhere, or rather nowhere. 
He now feels that he has, indeed, a particular home, and is at- 
tached to the spot. And what though he have neither rank, nor 
wealth, nor talents, to distinguish him abroad ? He, neverthe- 
less, is a man of consequence in his own family. Of that little com- 
munity he is the legitimate head, by a right more divine, than 
any regal authority can boast of. There is at least one individual 
who participates, deeply and feelingly, in all his interests and 
fortunes. His prosperity and his adversity, his joys and his 
sorrows, are hers. However obscure, he comes now to be a man 
of some authority. His children are the subjects of his rule, as 
well as the objects of his paternal care and love. He says to 
one, Go, and he goeth ; to another, Come, and he cometh ; and 
to a third, Do this and he doeth it. Nor is any ruler else obeyed 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 77 

with so much alacrity and good-will, as that father, who acts 
the father with a proper mixture of discretion and tenderness. 
The eyes of his little subjects glisten with joy, while they are 
fulfilling his wishes, and obeying his behests. 

Moreover, ordinarily, a man is more likely to be a virtuous 
member of society for marrying. He feels doubly bound to 
good behavior, by placing himself in this relationship. It is not 
only his own interest that is at stake, but the interests of the 
partner, whose earthly destinies are so closely connected with 
his ; — the interests, too, of the beloved offspring of their union. 
If he bring a blot upon himself, she, together with their children, 
shares in the infamy. Full well he knows that, if he take to bad 
courses, he plunges those who are most near and dear to him, as 
well as himself, into an abyss of wretchedness. This circum- 
stance cannot fail of bearing, with considerable weight, upon 
minds not entirely lost to the common sensibilities of human na- 
ture. 



78 THE BBIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XVIII. 

OF THE USE AND NECESSITY OF SMALL CHANGE IN SOCIAL AND DO- 
MESTIC COMMERCE. 

The commerce of neighborly social life is carried on, chiefly, by 
small change. Yast favors are seldom bestowed, and heavy 
obligations are seldom incurred. It is the constant interchange 
of little obliging attentions, that constitutes connubial happiness. 
It springs from an uninterrupted series of little acts of mutual 
kindness, light as air of themselves, and costing little or nothing, 
but of immeasurable importance in their consequences ; as they 
furnish the only kind of food, that will long sustain that delicate 
kind of friendship, and as the absence of these small attentions 
occasions, first coldness, then distrust, and finally alienation. 
Setting aside the brutish and the dissolute part of the community, 
wives and husbands disagree oftener, by much, about trifles, than 
about things of real weight. Perhaps nine in ten of their dis- 
putes and squabbles grow out of little things, such as trivial 
neglects, petty faults, or a word unkindly spoken. Nay, merely 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 79 

a hard look, sometimes, lays the foundation of a hard quarrel. 
A husband never can please his wife any longer, than his general 
conduct evinces that he is, in most respects, well pleased with 
her ; and still less, perhaps, may a wife expect to please or gain 
her husband otherwise than by treating him with conjugal affec- 
tion. If, for even his real and gross trespasses, she administers 
acids rather than sanatives, the oil of vitriol instead of the healing 
balsam, she will but increase the moral malady, that she wishes 
to cure. 

If we extend our view to the larger circle of social intercourse 
which comprehends relations, friends, and acquaintance of every 
kind and degree, we shall find, that the frequent interchange of 
courteous attentions and little kindnesses is the thing, that keeps 
them united together, and pleased with each other ; and that, in 
default of this, they presently lose all relish for one another's 
company. The truth is, as our tempers are oftener ruffled by 
trifles than by things of moment, so, on the other hand, our affec- 
tions are won more by a long series of trivial obligations, than 
by one single obligation, however great. 

Man, put him where you will, is a proud-hearted little animal. 
And hence, we become attached to those, who are in the habit of 
treating us, as if they thought us worthy of their particular no- 
tice and regard, and, at the same time, cold and secretly resent- 
ful toward such, as habitually neglect us in these little points : 
even though the former never have done us a single important 
favor, and the latter, in some one instance or other, have essen- 
tially befriended us. 

With regard to neglect and trespasses in those little things, 
which constitute the main substance of social life, the worst of it 



80 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

is, that they are incapable of free discussion ; and of course, the 
wounds from them admit of no healing. We are deeply touched 
with omissions or slights, for which it would be ridiculous to ex- 
postulate or complain. They leave a sting, which secretly ran- 
kles in our memories, and festers in our imaginations, and inward- 
ly we feel sore, while we are ashamed to fret outwardly ; the 
cause of our provocation being an undefinable, nameless some- 
thing, upon which we never can ask for an explanation, and, con- 
sequently, can never obtain any satisfaction. 

True enough, all this is often ill-grounded, or the offspring of 
mere jealousy. But that makes the case more remediless ; for 
ill-grounded enmities are the most obstinate, because, as their 
causes exist altogether, or chiefly, in the imagination, the imagina- 
tion is ever busy in coloring and magnifying them ; whereas, 
when the offence, though real, is of a definite form and shape, 
it may be got over. 

I have seen two friends dispute and quarrel violently about 
an affair of moment, and then settle it, and, presently, become as 
kind and loving together as ever. And I have seen other two 
friends, who never quarrelled together at all, become first cold, 
and at last utterly estranged, by reason of a neglect or slight, on 
the one side or the other, which, of itself, was too trivial to be 
so much as mentioned to the offending party. 

There are those, who are willing to oblige, but are unwilling 
to receive obligations, though never so small, in any way or in 
any thing ; and they boast of it as a noble quality. But what- 
ever they may think, themselves, they violate, in this respect, 
the general law of social commerce, which requires some degree 
of reciprocity, or a mutual exchange of commodities. One, who 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 81 

is ill the way of often receiving from another little kindnesses, 
which he is never permitted to requite, sinks into a dependent ; 
and his nominal friend is not, indeed, a friend, but a patron. 
The show of utter averseness to being obliged, in any case what- 
ever, is, commonly, understood aright ; it is taken for pride, or 
contempt, or coldness, and naturally gives displeasure ; while, 
on the contrary, to accept little obligations with frankness, and 
to be alike willing to oblige and to be obliged, is the proper line 
of social intercourse. 

I will only remark further, that the little daily attentions, 
upon which social feeling and happiness so much depend, ought 
to be natural and spontaneous, and not loaded and stiffened with 
ceremony : and that the only way to make them quite natural 
and spontaneous, is to have written on the heart that first of 
social laws, " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself" 



82 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XIX. 



TO EACH. 

In the crowded streets of a great city, where multitudes are 
passing in opposite directions, while some are crossing obliquely, 
and others at right angles, it is necessary for every one to give 
way a little to those he meets ; by which means they will have a 
free passage. Were the whole multitude to pass directly on- 
ward, without any one's yielding an inch of ground to any body 
else, all would be obstructed more or less, and confusion must 
ensue. — Or, if a churlish individual should take it into his head, 
to march forward in a straight line, and, in no case, make way 
for man, woman, or child, nor even for a procession, he would 
be sure to jostle against some one or other, at almost every step, 
and would receive many an insult, and, perhaps, hard blows, for 
his obstinacy and impudence. 

And very much so it is in our journey through life, and with 
respect to our general intercourse with mankind. " In the march 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 83 

of life, no one's path lies so clear, as not in some degree to cross 
another's ; and if each is determined, with unyielding sturdiness, 
to keep his own line, it is impossible but he must both give and 
receive many a rude shock." In society, in neighborhoods, and 
even among close friends, there will spring up rivalries, and be, 
sometimes, a clashing of opinion, and if all were mutually obsti- 
nate, there could be no bounds nor end to contention. Whereas, 
by the exercise of mutual condescension, social harmony is pre- 
served, and the pleasures of society enjoyed. 

The exercise of condescension is ranked among the precepts 
of the gospel, and is enjoined as a duty upon Christians, who are 
expressly told, from divine authority, to be patient towards all 
men, — to be courteous. Hence it follows, that the extremely 
obstinate man, who will not yield an ace in matters of interest or 
opinion, but runs foul of every one that chances to cross his path, 
does really transgress the rules of the gospel, as well as those of 
decorum. 

Here let me not be misunderstood. Condescension has its 
bounds, and those bounds are strongly marked. One should 
never yield opinions, much less principles, that are of great and 
serious importance. One should never sacrifice conscience to 
please friends, or for fear of foes. One should never " follow a 
multitude to do evil." One should never suffer himself to be 
conformed to the world in vicious practices and customs, or in 
fashions, which, though innocent in themselves, are too expensive 
for him to follow. One should never yield any thing to impor- 
tunity, which self-justice forbids him to yield at all. In these 
points, the person, who would go through the journey of life well, 
must be firm and inflexible. But in matters of indifference, or 



84 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

of no serious consequence, whether respecting opinion or interest, 
a yielding, accommodating spirit is not only desirable, but a 
moral and Christian duty. And even in points which are not to 
be yielded, one should maintain firmness in such a manner, if 
possible, as to make it evident that he acts from principle rather 
than from obstinacy. 

It would be easy to apply these observations, to the various 
relations of social life, in all which the custom of well-ordered 
society, imposes upon us a regard for the opinions and feelings of 
others ; but more particularly are they applicable to those in the 
married state, for it is here that mutual obstinacy of temper, 
meets with daily and hourly opportunities and occasions of colli- 
sion. " Trifles light as air," are perpetually disputed between 
them, and with as much warmth and pertinacity, as if they were 
articles of faith. 

Courtesy of manners is the congruous drapery of a benevo- 
lent mind, and is both seemly and pleasing, at all times, and in 
every relation of life. Nor does it need any laborious study to 
attain it. A great part of the essence of courtesy, or of genuine 
politeness, is expressed in these three words, u Never prefer your- 
self." This rule of social intercourse, which is of excellent use, is 
the more highly to be regarded, as it is drawn, not from the school 
of pagan philosophy, but from the pure fountain of the gospel. 
One of the parables of our blessed Saviour begins thus, — " When 
thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit not down in the 
highest room." That is, in modern phrase, prefer not thyself 

They, who carefully abstain from giving to themselves any 
undue or even questionable preferences, will seldom meet with 
incivilities from others. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 85 



NUMBEK XX. 



OF THE NECESSITY OF LEAENIXO HOW TO USE MONEY. 



-" To know 



That which before us lies in daily life 

Is the prime of wisdom ; what is more, is fume, 

Or emptiness, or fond impertinence.' 1 

Miltox. 

There is one inferior, or subordinate branch of knowledge, 
which great learning overlooks, and great genius contemns : 
though, in all ages of the world, learning and genius have suffer- 
ed sore hardships and perplexities for the lack of it : I mean the 
knowledge of the use of money. 

This is, it must be owned, a vulgar kind of knowledge ; am- 
ply possessed, not unfrequently, by minds of the baser sort. So 
far is it from entering into the scope of scholastic education, that 
few are more destitute of it than some of the deepest scholars. 
The studies they pursue are altogether foreign from this, and 
the classical authors which they most admire speak of it with 
contempt It is the ambition of the studious boy to be a fine 



86 THE BRIEF REMARKED 

scholar. This object, along with virtuous dispositions, embraces, 
in his estimation, every thing desirable in character. After a 
painful, and laudable course of exertions, he attains it. He steps 
forth, into the busy world, in the majesty of learning. By all 
men, that are scholars themselves, his parts and his progress are 
admired. He has great talents, rare talents, shining talents, and 
all sense but common sense. He knows the reputed number of 
the visible stars in the firmament, and not a few of them he can 
call by their names. He has explored the depths of natural 
philosophy. In metaphysical acumen he is keen, and can split 
hairs as with an edge, finer and sharper than a razor's. In the 
most celebrated languages of antiquity, and, perhaps, in several 
modern languages, he is marvellously skilled. But in respect to 
that ordinary traffic, which all, who have bodies to feed and 
clothe, must be concerned in, he knows less than a market boy of 
the age of twelve. And how will he ever get this kind of know- 
ledge ? His books teach it not, and, besides, to make it an object 
of practical attention, is repugnant, alike, to his habits and feel- 
ings. Thus richly endowed, and, meanwhile, deplorably lacking, 
he steps into the busy world : — and experience tells the rest. 

It is no uncommon thing, to find men of excellent parts, and 
profound erudition, who, nevertheless, of the little affairs of 
practical life are as ignorant as children. In their dealing, they 
are exposed to daily impositions ; the sharks of society prey upon 
them, and they perceive it not. If they employ laborers, they 
know neither how to direct them, nor how to estimate their ser- 
vices ; and are quite as likely to find fault with the honest and 
faithful, as with those who defraud them, and artfully cover the 
cheat. If they have an income which, rightly managed, would 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 87 

be sufficient, it melts away in their improvident hands, and they 
suffer want. la whatever pertains to abstract science, they are 
entitled to rank with the great ; but in every thing that relates 
to the supply of their daily necessities, or those of their fam- 
ilies, they are the least among the little. Though they have 
an accurate knowledge of the map of the heavens and of the 
earth, as they know nothing, or next to nothing of the things 
about them, they are more pitiable for their ignorance, than en- 
viable for their learning. 

This sort of helplessness does not, however, befall the learned 
only : it is, alike, common to the inheritors of opulence. As 
they who, from childhood, have been altogether engaged in scien- 
tific pursuits, know less of the economy of a family, than of the 
economy of the visible heavens ; so they, that are born to the 
inheritance of wealth, are naturally inclined to despise the very 
name and appearance of economy, as little and mean. Possessing 
a superfluity of money, which they never knew the getting of, they 
squander rather than spend it ; and in a very little while, the fruits 
of a whole age of painful industry are utterly wasted and gone : not 
always from any uncommon depravity of heart, but sometimes, 
nay often, from merely the lack of ordinary prudence ; of that 
worldly prudence, the study or observance of which they deemed 
beneath their condition. 

" The love of money" (not money itself) " is the root of all 
evil." There is almost no evil, to which the inordinate love of 
money has not given birth or aid. But if things were to be esti- 
mated, merely by the abuse of them, Literature, Science, the 
lights of Reason and even Reason itself, must fall under reproach. 
What though money be the idol of griping avarice, and the pil- 



88 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

lar of devouring ambition ? What though it minister, in a thou- 
sand ways, to the lusts of men ? What though to many it opens 
the floodgates of vice ? What though the sordid seek it as the 
chief good, and the knavish snatch it by whatever means ? — Is 
money itself in fault ? Is it not a blessing after all ? If it be 
not a blessing, then it follows that the naked, famishing savage 
is as well off as the well-fed and well-clothed European or Ameri- 
can ; that vile, smoky cabins are as comfortable as choice houses ; 
and that civilization itself is no better than the forlorn state of 
nature. 

Money is, indeed, a great blessing, and the knowledge of 
using money as not abusing it, — charitably, whenever charity 
calls, but, always, discreetly — is an interesting branch of know- 
ledge, and well deserves a place in our systems of education. 
For it is far more important to learn to guide our affairs with 
discretion than to ci speak with tongues." Neither is any other 
science so often and so urgently needed, as homely household 
science — or practical skill in managing those little domestic and 
personal concerns, which every day of life brings along with it. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 89 



NUMBER XXI. 

OF THE WONDERFUL BOY. 

There is a remarkable 7 variety in the growth of mind, from 
the first visible dawnings of reason, to the full maturity of its 
powers. Of minds, that finally attain to an uncommon degree 
of intelligence, some have a slow growth ; an ample harvest of 
fruit succeeds to no extraordinary blossom. Neither their child- 
hood nor their youth gave promise of the parts, which the process 
of time gradually and slowly developed. It has been remarked 
of the late Patrick Henry, so celebrated in the annals of Virginia, 
" that he did not appear at the bar until he was about thirty years 
old, and that he had attained nearly to forty, before the extent 
of his talents was discovered by the public, and, probably, before 
it was known to himself." Other minds have a rapid growth, and 
shortly become stationary, or even go to decay ; and the maturity 
of age disappoints the high expectations that had been built upon 
the singular forwardness of childhood and youth. Their pre- 
mature brightness passes away, and is presently gone, like the 
passing blaze of a meteor. 



90 THE BRIEF EEMAEKEE 

" The wonderful boy, being no longer a boy, is no longer a 
wonder." Not that this is the fact in all instances : there have 
been men of gigantic minds, who discovered marks of superiority 
in mental stature, almost from the cradle. One remarkable instance 
of it, was Dr. Samuel Johnson, and another, the late Chief Jus- 
tice Parsons. Of the latter the Hon. Judge Parker in an address 
to a Grand Jury observes : — " From the companions of his early 
years I have learned, that he was comparatively great before he 
arrived at manhood; that his infancy was marked by mental labor 
and study, rather than by puerile amusements ; that his youth was 
a season of persevering acquisition instead of pleasure ; and that 
when he became a man, be seemed to possess the wisdom and 
experience of those, who had been men long before him." 

But notwithstanding these, and sundry other similar instances, 
experience teaches that the wonderful boy not seldom makes but 
an ordinary, and, sometimes, an inferior man : and this is owing, 
perhaps, for the most part to the two following causes. 

In the view that is taken of childhood and immature youth, 
the partial or superficial observer is very apt to mistake loqua- 
cious vivacity for brightness of intellect, and a forward pertness 
for genius ; and the fond hopes that are founded upon this common 
mistake, are at length blasted of course. In the progress of age 
there is discovered the want of solidity and depth. The mind has 
no bottom. It retains its sprightliness through life ; but it is 
still the sprightliness of childish years. 

But the most common cause of the deplorable failure of 
youths of great promise, is the indiscretion, not to say vanity of 
their friends. It is quite common for parents to mistake their 
own goslings for swans ; to think their children very bright, if 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 91 

they have merely common sense. But if any one of them hap- 
pen to be more forward for his age than is usual, he makes a pro- 
digious figure in their partial and doting eyes: nor can they be con- 
tent to smother or conceal the delicious sensations of their hearts. 
They exhibit the prodigy of intellect to their acquaintances and 
visitors ; and these, out of courtesy, praise the wonderful boy to 
his face, and express quite as much admiration of his parts as they 
feel — and, peradventure, a little more. 

Young master listens — " nothing loth" — to these notes of ad- 
ulation. Ere he is out of his teens, he thinks himself too wise for 
instruction, and too important for advice. He looks down with 
scorn upon the beaten tracks of life, and must needs strike out 
some eccentric path for himself. Or, depending on the mere force 
of genius, he despises plodding industry even of the intellectual 
kind, as fit only for vulgar souls. The deplorable consequences are 
inevitable. 

A boy flattered much for his genius, or a girl, for her beauty, 
is, of all human wights, the most likely to become tumid with 
vanity, which alike deforms the mind and hinders its growth. 

The natural gifts of the mind are dealt out with a frugal 
hand ; to none so abundantly as to supersede the necessity of men- 
tal labor ; and to few so sparingly, that they may not, under the 
enjoyment of suitable means, and with well-directed industry, at- 
tain to a respectable standing for knowledge ; and whatever dif- 
ference there may be between men in regard to the original powers 
of their minds, the most common and the greatest difference be- 
tween them, arises from a diligent cultivation of these powers on 
the one hand, and a slothful neglect of them on the other. With 
respect to intellectual, as well as to worldly treasure, it is the 



92 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

hand of the diligent that maketh rich ; while the sluggard, who 
neglects to cultivate and improve his mind, will find that mind a 
wretched waste at the age of fifty, of however great promise it 
had been at the age of twenty. Like rare-ripe fruit, its maturity 
and its decay will be simultaneous. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 93 



NUMBER XXII. 

OF BE IDLING THE TONGUE. 

"The tongue can no man tame." 

If this were not the language of inspiration, experience has 
proved it to be the language of truth. The tongue is the most 
untamable thing in nature. c ' Every kind of beasts and birds, 
and of serpents, is tamed and has been tamed by mankind." But 
not so with the tongue. Who, amongst the sons of men, ever 
yet tamed his own tongue ? Not one. — A person can bridle his 
tongue, or hold it ; but no sooner does he take off the bridle, or 
let go his hold, than this little member runs wild, and out slips 
something from it, in the moment of passion or of levity, which 
the speaker, presently, wishes back. 

Mark Anthony, it has been said, tamed lions, and drove them, 
harnessed to his chariot, through the streets of Rome. Had 
he tamed his own tongue, it had been a greater wonder still. — 
The rattlesnake has been tamed, and so has the crocodile : but 
the tongue, never. Pythagoras imposed on his rxipils constant 



94 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

silence, for months, and years together. But what did it all 
signify ? No sooner were they permitted to talk, than they 
gabbled a deal of impertinence. — Besides, to withhold the tongue 
from speaking at all, is destroying its end and use, rather than 
taming it. The gift of speech is too precious to be thrown away. 
Let the tongue be accustomed to speak, and to speak as it ought 
to. " A word spoken in season, how good is it ! " Unruly tongues, 
on the contrary, produce "a world of iniquity. 1 ' — Some are 
"full of deadly poison." Such are they, that curse men and blas- 
pheme God, and which utter lies for mischief, or for sport. Such 
too is the deceitful tongue, " whose words are smoother than oil ; 
yet are they drawn swords." There is the sly, whispering tongue, 
and babbling, tattling tongue : each of which " separateth very 
friends." " The words of a tale-bearer are as wounds." He 
wounds others thereby, and himself too. For the mouth of such 
a fool is his destruction. 

An impertinent, meddling tongue makes bad worse, even when 
employed in offices of friendship. When Job was smit from 
head to foot, the busy tongues of his wife and his friends were a 
sorer plague to him than all his pains. And thus it often hap- 
pens, that a person under misfortune suffers as well from the 
meddling tongues of friends, as from the malicious tongues of 
enemies. 

There are fiery tongues. u The tongue is a fire." Such is 
the tongue of the passionate man, or woman, whose mouth, foaming 
with rage, casteth abroad words, which are as " firebrands, arrows, 
and death." Such also is the tongue of the slanderer and back- 
biter, which, being itself " set on fire of hell," puts whole neigh- 
borhoods and communities in a flame, and setteth on fire the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 95 

course of nature." How many a sweetly fashioned mouth has 
been disfigured, and made hideous, by the fiery tongue in it. 

What, then, is to be done with this unruly little member, 
which "boasteth great things," and occasioneth infinite mischief in 
the world? Since no man, or woman even, can quite tame it, what 
is the best way to manage it ? 

First, correct the heart, and keep that with all diligence. The 
foolishness of the lips is first uttered in the heart. " For out of 
the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." 

Next, carefully bridle the tongue. Keep the bit upon it at 
all times ; especially in the moment of sudden anger, and in the 
hour of joy and conviviality. 

Self-command, as respects the tongue, is as necessary as it is 
difficult. For we are told from divine authority, " If any man of- 
fend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bri- 
dle the whole body." 

As it is of the utmost importance that we rule our own 
tongues, so, on the other hand, it is of no small importance, that 
we be guarded against the unruly tongues of others. And here I 
will lay down one caution, and commend it to the particular re- 
membrance of the young and inexperienced. Beware of close 
intimacy with those, whose tongues are calumnious towards almost 
every one except the present company, to which they are ever 
smooth and fair. For, he who commonly indulges himself in ca- 
lumniating or ridiculing the absent, plainly shows his company, 
what it has to expect from him, after he leaves it. 



96 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEK XXIII. 



OF SAYING TOO MUCH. 



The art of holding the tongue, is quite as necessary as the art 
of speaking, and, in some instances, it is even more difficult to 
learn. 

In a biographical notice of a celebrated speaker in the 
British House of Commons, it is remarked that " he never said 
too much" This is, in truth, a rare commendation of a public 
speaker. One who, without circumlocution or parade, comes to 
the matter in hand at once., and pertinaciously sticks to it through- 
out — who seizes on the strong points in the argument, and sets 
them to view in the clearest light — who says all that is proper 
and nothing more — whose every sentence, and almost every 
word, strikes home, and who " minds to leave off when he has 
done" — such a public speaker, whether in the Forum, in the Pulpit, 
or at the Bar, will never tire his hearers. 

But my present business is not with Speakers, but with 
Talkers ; the last being much the most numerous tribe, and en- 
titled, of course, to the first notice. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 97 

Man, or even woman, when enjoying freedom of the tongue, 
and gifted with the faculty of using it fluently, is a great deal 
more apt to say too much than too little. 

When a room full of ladies are all speaking at the same in- 
stant, only with this difference, that some tune their voices higher 
and some lower, it is pretty clear that they say too much. But 
this is tender ground, on which I would tread lightly. 

They who expect to be listened to by every body, but are un- 
willing, themselves, to listen to any body ; who will hold you by 
the sleeve or button, if you attempt to escape them, and din you 
the harder, the more you show signs of weariness ; — this tribe 
of talkers (as all but themselves will readily admit) say too much. 

Persons, who have wit, or (what is as bad) who think they 
have it, are in particular hazard of saying too much. It is one 
of the hardest things in the world, to make a temperate use of 
real or of self-supposed wit, and more particularly, of the talent 
for raillery. And hence many a one, not wanting in good nature, 
and meaning nothing more than to show off his wit, multiplies 
enemies, and sometimes wounds his best friends. To make use 
of a line in one of Crabbe's poems, 

" He kindles anger by untimely jokes." 

They who talk merely with the intent to shine in company, or 
for the sake of showing off to advantage their own parts and learn- 
ing, — always say too much. 

The fond pair, who entertain their visitors, by the hour, with 
setting forth the excellent qualities, or clever sayings of their own 
children, or with mawkish details of the rare conjugal affection 
that subsists between themselves, — say too much. 
5 



98 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Those who are inordinately fond of speaking in the first per- 
son — I myself, — it is more than an even chance that they will 
say too much. When a young man, whose stock of wisdom is 
small, is more eager to expend it in talking, than to increase it by 
patient listening — he is very apt to say too much. 

Old men are prone to say too much, when, getting into the 
prete?' -pluperfect tense, they represent the former days as every 
way better than these. As if the human family, notwithstanding 
the perpetual accumulation of experience, were constantly retro- 
grading instead of advancing ; and as if men and women, nowa- 
days, were like grasshoppers in comparison of their progenitors. 

It is seldom that men do not say too much, in their convivial 
moments. It is then, that they are peculiarly apt to let off with 
the tongue something which they are sorry for on the morrow ; 
for " when wine is in, discretion is out." 

As to those persons, whose staple of conversation is telling 
stories in long metre, though it is hardly to be expected that 
they can be prevailed with either to refrain or to abridge, yet the 
following direction from Chesterfield travestie, may be of use to 
them, as a general regulator. — " When you mean to introduce an 
interesting story, make out a kind of preface about an hour's 
length, by way of impressing upon your hearers the pleasure they 
.are about to receive. If they should be disappointed, that is not 
your fault. You did your best ; and so much time has been passed 
away, at least to your own satisfaction.' 1 

I will conclude with a caution. — Let not him that talketh 
not, despise him that talketh. There have been some wights of 
the human family, both male and female, who have obtained the 
reputation of abilities and wisdom by their grave taciturnity, — 



OR THE WAYS OF MAN. 99 

every body thinking that they could say a great deal if they 
would — when in sober truth, their habitual silence was owing 
rather to dearth of ideas or to dulness. 

To be humdrum in company, is as wide from the true mark 
as to be garrulous. 



100 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XXIV. 



LABOE. 

Necessity is the mainspring of industry, and the mother of use- 
ful arts. The earth was given to the children of men, in a rude 
and forlorn condition. And why ? Assuredly, not because it 
was out of the power, or beyond the benevolence of the Creator, 
to have rendered the whole face of it " like blooming Eden, 
fair," and so fertile every where, as to yield a plentiful abundance 
for human sustenance, without any human labor, care, or fore- 
thought. This did not, however, consist with the plan of Divine 
Wisdom. 

Man is a being compounded of mind and matter ; and a 
great part of his necessary employment is such, as tends to 
evince the superiority of the former over the latter. The stub- 
born glebe he meliorates, softens, and fructifies. Regions of 
forest he subdues, and turns them into fruitful fields, and bloom- 
ing gardens. The droughtv soil he irrigates, and the fenny he 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 101 

drains. Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, are all laid by him under 
contribution, and he compels them, as it were, to minister, not 
only to the necessities and comforts, but to the embellishments 
of life. In ten thousand ways, by skilful contrivance, and the 
dint of industry, he overcomes the resistance of stubborn mat- 
ter, and forces it to yield to his use — to his comfort — to his 
adornment. And by all this busy round of contrivance and of 
labor, the faculties of his mind are developed, his body is made 
more strong and healthy, his morals more virtuous or less cor- 
rupt, and his life unspeakably more contented and happy. For 
he rejoices in the work of his hands, nor feels he the burden of 
time, which hangs so heavily on the sons and daughters of sloth. 

Man is nowhere found more degraded, than in climes the 
most delicious, and upon a soil that produces, spontaneously, an 
abundant supply of his wants. It is there that his faculties are 
torpid, his mind and his heart most deeply corrupted, and his 
existence superlatively wretched. If we may credit the accounts 
of voyagers, some of the South Sea islands are earthly paradises 
in regard to climate and soil, but border upon the infernal re- 
gions as to customs, morals, and manners ; both the men and 
the women being so deeply corrupted, that their abominable vices 
alone, not only prevent any increase of population, but threaten 
even to extirpate them entirely from the face of the earth. Nor 
would it, perhaps, be much better with the human race over the 
w r orld, if the whole world were in a condition that superseded all 
necessity for labor. 

If it seemed meet to the all-wise Creator, that man, in his 
primeval state, should be subject to labor — that he should be 



102 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

made to dress the garden, and to keep it — much greater is the 
urgency for industrious habits in his lapsed state, in which idle- 
ness is sure to be prolific of vice. And, accordingly, upon the 
moral change r of human nature, the earth, too, underwent a 
change. The thorn and the thistle grew up, in place of the fra- 
grant flower and the nourishing plant. The heat consumed by 
day, and the frost by night. The inert matter, that he had to 
deal with, became doubly intractable. Obstacles to sloth, and 
imperious calls to industry, multiplied. So that man was com- 
pelled to eat his bread in the sweat of his face. 

Happy necessity ! the necessity that prevents a frightful 
mass of moral evil, and produces an immensity of good. "With- 
out it, the wickedness of man would be doubly great upon the 
earth ; and so far from enjoyment — feeling the fulness of satiety, 
and the intolerable burden of time — like Milton's fiend in para- 
dise, he would " see undelighted all delight." 

Among the vain sons and daughters of men, there are those 
who despise labor, even though their circumstances urgently need 
it. As if the point of honor lay in being useless, improvident, 
and helpless. This is Folly' 's pride. Whoso despise th labor, 
despiseth an ordinance of heaven. Not only is labor made ne- 
cessary by the law of our general nature, but it is enjoined by a 
positive law from above. — " Six days shalt thou labor, and do all 
thy work? 1 The truly wise, so far from despising it, ever hold 
it in honor. To honor useful labor — to encourage the indus- 
trious — to bring up children to early habits of industry and fru- 
gality — and, on the other hand, to discountenance and hold in 
reproach a life of sloth, of improvidence, and of dissipation, — 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN 103 

are indispensable, and ought to be engrained in the public mind. 
They are truly republican sentiments and habits ; and as far as 
they prevail, so far will there be order and thrift in any free re- 
public, and especially in this free country, in which there is such 
an unbounded scope for industry. 



104 THE BBIEF KEMARKEK 



NUMBER XXV. 

OF THE DESIGN AND USE OF THE THUMB. 

The whole frame of the human body so clearly evinces design, 
and, of course, an all-wise Designer, that atheism would appear 
the extreme of folly, if even there were no other arguments to 
confute it, than those which are, in a manner, forced upon us, 
whenever we take a careful survey of ourselves. 

The mechanism 6f the eye is marvellously complex, and }~et 
nothing in it is superfluous ; every part bearing a necessary and 
obvious relation to the purpose for which it was formed. Nor is 
the mechanism of the ear less adapted, in every part, to the de- 
sign of its formation. These wonderful organs of sense are given 
us, however, in common with the lower animals, of which there 
are some, that far excel us in clearness of sight, and quickness of 
hearing. But the human body has one appendage, which belongs 
not to any of the brute creation, and which evidences design or 
contrivance, as clearly as the eye or the ear. I mean the 
Thumb. This puny member, which scarcely ever is noticed by 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 105 

poet or philosopher, has been the main stay of the human family, 
in all ages and countries. 

Had the human body lacked this little limb of labor, man 
would have been the most forlornly helpless of all animals, and, 
indeed, the whole race must nearly have perished thousands of 
years ere the present time. He neither could have tilled the 
ground, nor drawn a fish from the water. He neither could 
have felled the forests } nor furnished himself with weapons of 
defence against the ferocious beasts, with which they were inhab- 
ited. He would have been alike incapable of making, and of 
using any of the instruments necessary for his sustenance, or 
clothing, or defence. Suppose that the thumb, and that only, 
had been overlooked in the general contrivance of the human 
body, suppose that all the organs and members of the body, and 
particularly the hands ^ were exactly as they are now, save that, 
instead of four fingers and a thumb, there were # five fingers stand- 
ing parallel to each other: — the body, in that case, would have 
been a machine wonderfully curious, bat utterly inadequate to 
the purposes of human life. Suppose further, that, as a recom- 
pense for the want of a thumb, man had been gifted with a 
double or treble portion of intellect ; he, notwithstanding, 
must have been helpless and wretched ; for it would be out of 
the power of finite intellect to suply that deficiency, or even so 
much as to provide for the mere necessary wants of the body. 

Man, upon his expulsion from paradise, was cast into a wil- 
derness world, and a wilderness it must have remained to this 
day, but for the thumb upon his hand. He was commanded to 
subdue the earth, and was authorized to exercise dominion over 

the beasts of the field ; — things as much out of his power had he 
5* 



106 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

been thuinbless, as arresting the stars in their courses. But this 
feeble being, through the constant aid of the thumb, what won- 
ders has he wrought ! See the forests felled ; see blooming gar- 
dens and fields waving with golden wheat ; see villages, towns, 
cities, the spacious and well-furnished tenements of man ; see 
his convenient and comely attire, the fulness of his cup, and the 
comforts of his table ; see thousands of ships proudly traversing 
the ocean, freighted with the superfluities of some countries for 
the supply of the wants of others: see the finer works of art, 
pictures, statuary, engravings, embroidery ; — see all these, and 
a thousand other things, and you will recognize in every one of 
them the agency of the thumb. Nay, all our books of Divinity, 
Law, Physic, Surgery, History, Biography, Philosophy, Poetry, 
or of whatever name or description, were first thumbed out by 
the laborious penmen of them. So true is it, that, as the hand 
is the instrument to all other instruments, it is the thumb, chiefly, 
that ministers ability to the hand. 

The thumb points to duty. Its admirable contrivance mani- 
fests both the wisdom and the goodness of the Contriver. It 
plainly shows, at the same time, that man is destined by his 
Maker, to employments of manual labor ; and, consequently, that 
manual labor, so far from being a reproach to him, is one of the 
essential duties of his nature and condition, and ought rather to 
be held in honor than in disgrace. And if there be some excep- 
tions, they include but a very small proportion of the human 
family : for, of the whole world there are not more, perhaps, 
than a hundredth part, who are fairly exempted by rank, or for- 
tune, or mental occupations, from the necessity of laboring with 
their hands. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 107 

" Sucking the thumbs" is a proverbial phrase, denoting a 
total neglect of employing them in any useful way, answerable to 
the design they were made for. A great many of this " unto- 
ward generation " have the vile trick of " sucking their thumbs ; " 
— a great many, too, whose circumstances imperiously demand 
a better use of them. It is a pitiful practice, whether in man 
or woman, directly leading to poverty and want, and, not unfre- 
quently, to the worst of vices. It behooves that parents keep a 
sharp look out. lest their boys and girls get into this way, so dan- 
gerous to their morals, so deadening to all their faculties, 
and so destructive of their future prospects in life. 

But there is one use of the thumb, that is infinitely worse than 
not using it at all ; it is employing it in spreading abroad false- 
hood and moral poison, with the pen, and with the type. It 
were far better to be born without thumbs, than to use them so 
abominably. 



108 THE BEIEF BEMABKEB 



NUMBER XXVI. 

OF IDLEES. 

ThepcE are multitudes who pass along the stream of life without 
laboring at the oar, or paying any thing for their passage ; so 
that the charge of their fare falls, most unreasonably, upon their 
fellow-passengers. This is an evil of a very serious and dangerous 
nature ; for such idlers not only burden the community, but cor- 
rupt it. To say that it were as well for their country that they 
had never been born, and that they are unworthy to be numbered 
in the census of its population ; — to say this, is saying too 
little. They not only do no good, but they do much harm ; 
they not only prey upon the fruits of other men's industry, but 
they deprave public morals. It is in the nature of this kind of 
gentry to multiply very fast if they are not checked ; for besides 
that they commonly bring up their children, if children they 
have, in their own way of living, they are perpetually making 
proselytes from the families of their neighbors ; leading astray, 
by their examples and enticements, a great many youth, who, 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 109 

but for them, might have been industrious, and useful to so- 
ciety. 

In some countries, the wisdom of legislators has been much 
employed on this subject, and the arm of executive power has 
enforced industry, as a political duty which every person owed 
to the State. The Hollanders in particular, in the early age of 
their Eepublic. considered idle persons as politically criminal, 
and punished idleness as a crime against the commonwealth. 
Those, who had no visible means for a livelihood, were callecl 
before the magistracy, to give an account how they got their liv- 
ing ; and if they were unable to render a satisfactory explanation 
on this point, they were put to labor. Those thrifty Hollanders 
are said to have employed, also, the following singular expedient. 
They constructed a kind of box, sufficiently large for a man to 
stand therein upright, and exercise his bodily faculties. In the 
interior of it there was a pump. The vagrant or idler was put 
into this box, which was so placed in the liquid element, that 
the water would gush into it constantly, through apertures in its 
bottom and sides ; so that the lazy culprit had to work at the 
pump with all his might, and for several hours together, to keep 
himself from drowning. The medicine, it is said, was found to 
be an infallible cure for the disease ; insomuch, that no one was 
ever known to work at the pump for the second time. 

I do, by no means, recommend those old Dutch laws and cus- 
toms for domestic use here. Sacred Liberty ! I would not hurt a 
hair of thy head. Yet every thing ought to be done in this case, 
which can be done consistently with that personal liberty, which 
our free constitutions of government guarantee to every citizen 
of the United States. How far our laws, in consistency with the 



110 THE BRIEF REMARRBB 

rights of citizens, might go towards restraining notorious idleness 
and dissipation with respect to adults, it is not for me to say. 
I leave it to men, gifted with superior wisdom. Thus far, how- 
ever, I will venture to affirm — that as children, in some sense or 
other, do actually belong to the community, so it ought to be in 
the power, and to be made the duty of the political guardians of the 
public welfare, to see to it that they be brought up in such a man- 
ner, that they may be likely to strengthen and adorn, rather than 
4o weaken and deprave society. For which reason, when idle pro- 
fligate parents are manifestly leading their children in their own 
footsteps, they ought to be taken from the dominion of such un- 
worthy parents, and placed under the care of those, who would ac- 
custom them to habits of virtuous industry. It would be an act of 
charity to the children themselves ; and would give to the general 
community a vast number of sound and useful members, who. else 
would grow up to prey upon its earnings, and poison its morals. 
If all suitable pains were taken with the rising generation to in- 
duce them to form sober and industrious habits, by example, 
b3' the incitements of persuasion, and even by reasonable force 
whenever force is necessary, the effects would be happy beyond 
measure. An infinite mass of mischief and crime would be pre- 
vented ; the officers of justice would have little to do ; our jails 
would, comparatively, be empty. 

I will only add, Public Sentiment, as it now stands in some, 
if not in most parts of our country, must needs be rectified ; 
else idleness and dissipation will continue to gather numbers and 
strength. So long as an idle, worthless fellow, perchance a 
gambler and sharper, by means of a fine coat, a lily hand, and 
graceful bows, is able to take rank of an industrious, worthy 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. Ill 

young farmer, or mechanic, who gets an honest living by the sweat 
of his face, — it will be vain to denounce idleness, or recommend 
industry. Under such circumstances, young men, whose ambition 
is more than a match for their moral principle, very naturally 
turn idlers, or set out to live by their wits, well knowing that if 
they can only keep up a gentlemanly appearance, by almost what- 
ever means, they will be much better received, and rank much 
higher than if they were plain, industrious, laboring men. 

Lo, a ball ! a splendid ball, — And who enters now ? Who 
is he, that all the gentlemen greet so heartily, and all the ladies 
notice so readily ? It is Mr. Flash, an itinerant, who, without 
funds, without industry, without any visible means, always dresses 
in high taste, and has at his fingers' ends every punctilio of fash- 
ionable manners — He is quite the gentleman, every inch of him. 



112 THE BEIEF REMARKED 



NUMBEB XXVII. 



' ; Knowledge is power." This was a favorite maxim of Bacon, 
so eminent in the ranks of philosophy. 

The weakness of man is marvellously strengthened by his know- 
ledge. It is by his superior knowledge, that he gains dominion 
over the various races of animals, of which many are much 
stronger, and swifter than he ; over the stubborn earth, and over 
the powerful elements, Fire, Air, and Water. Naked came he 
into the world, and naked must he ever have remained, had not 
the inspiration of the Almighty given him understanding, and 
furnished him with motives to employ this noble faculty in an 
infinite variety of useful ways. 

Man is feeble of body ; his main strength lies in his mind. 
Apart from his superior intellectual faculties, he would be one of 
the most helpless, forlorn, and wretched animals, upon the face of 
the earth. 

The invaluable worth of knowledge, and of education by 



ON THE WxVYS OF MAN. 113 

which it is acquired, has been ever, in all civilized countries, the 
standing theme of profound discussion, or. more often, of splendid 
but empty declamation ; so that only scanty gleanings are left 
to the modern pen. There is, however, one respect in which the 
subject has been neither exhausted, nor frequently touched ; it is 
the intimate connection between knowledge and Productive 
Labor. 

Productive Labor, so essential to the sustenance and support of 
the general community of man, is twofold — direct, and indirect. 

Direct productive labor consists of that bodily exercise, that 
" sweat of the face," by means of which we are furnished with food 
and raiment, and with all the various necessaries and elegancies 
of life. 

By this it is that life is sustained and decorated, and it is in 
this way that the great bulk of mankind is necessarily employed. 
Those who labor with their hands in husbandry, and in the various 
useful arts, are, as it were, the strong pillars that support the liv- 
ing world. But then they are, in no wise, entitled to arrogate the 
honor to themselves exclusively :— " The hand cannot say to the 
eye, I have no need of thee." 

Indirectly, there are in the common vineyard productive and 
efficient laborers, other than those who work with the hands. 
They are the ones who invent, conceive, plan, guard and regulate. 
So that, after all, mind is an essential and a most eminent oper- 
ator throughout the whole process. 

I will barely suggest a few particulars ; leaving it to the 
reader to enlarge upon them, and to combine them with others 
which are alike obvious. 

Very little would it signify, though we had hands to labor, if 



114 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

we knew not how to use them ; nor should we know how to use 
them skilfully, but for the inventions of those who have gone 
before us. Without the aid of the arts our hands must be idle, 
or work to no purpose. In all the multitudinous occupations 
that are now going on, whether upon land or water, whether for the 
sustenance or the adornment of life, there is a never-ceasing de- 
pendence upon the arts. And how were the arts explored, and how 
brought to the state of wonderful jDerfection, in which they now are ? 
By intense labor of the Mind. From one generation to another, 
very many who labored not at all with their hands, have labored 
abundantly, and most efficiently and usefully, with their intellects. 
Their inventions and improvements have directed and guided 
manual labor, and have facilitated and abridged it in a marvellous 
manner and degree. And assuredly, theirs is to be regarded as 
belonging to the highest class of productive labor ; assuredly, he 
that contributes to the general stock of knowledge in the arts, is 
a benefactor of the public, and is entitled to the gratitude of all ; 
assuredly the laboring man is bound to encourage the arts, 
w T hich so mightily aid the work of his hands. Nor ought he to 
think lightly of mere science ; it is the mother of the arts, and in 
sundry instances it has, undesignedly and unconsciously, led to 
the discovery of them. The star-gazers of ancient Chaldea never 
once dreamed of the vastly important practical purposes, to which 
the world, in succeeding ages, would apply the knowledge of as- 
tronomy. 

Again, it is to be considered and distinctly remembered, that 
the laboring classes spend their strength for nought, unless the 
fruits of their industry be securely guarded from plunder and rob- 
bery, and against the hand of rapaciousness, in whatever manner, or 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 115 

under whatever guise it may assail them. Hence, of necessity, 
there must be government, laws, and courts of justice ; and of ne- 
cessity, also, there must be lawgivers, executive and judicial offi- 
cers, advocates, &c. Now. all these must be paid out of the com- 
mon stock. But provided they discharge their duties ably and 
faithfully, and are content with reasonable recompense, no laborer 
is more worthy of his hire. By no means are they to be regarded 
as drones in the hive. As they are the necessary guardians over 
the general treasure which manual labor accumulates, so they 
have a right to a share of it ; — at the same time, on the part of 
the general community, special care must be taken lest the guar- 
dians of its rights and its property, like the ravenous sons of 
old Eli, should make such free use of the flesh-hook, as to leave 
little else to the commonalty but the broth. 

Moreover, since laws can afford us no effectual protection, un- 
less the morals of the community be preserved from general cor- 
ruption, it clearly follows that the professional men, who faithfully 
devote their time and attention to the interests of pure morality, 
are really, though indirectly, productive laborers, in even the secu- 
lar sense of the term. I will particularly instance the venerable 
Ministers of our holy religion, who — laying out of the question 
all considerations of the future life — do, I presume to affirm, 
greatly increase the amount of productive labor, by the weight 
of their exhortations and influence against idleness and profligacy, 
at the same time that they no less contribute to the security of 
the fruits of labor, by the generally moralizing effects of their 
ministrations. So, also, the well-qualified and faithful instructors 
of our children and youth are to be regarded in nearly the same 
point of view — as among the most productive and useful of laborers. 



116 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Neither is it true that no labor is hard, except that of the 
hands. So far otherwise, many an excellent man, by intense 
labor of mind in his profession, has worn himself out much sooner 
than he would have done, had he employed an equal measure of 
industry in the labors of the field. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 117 



NUMBEK XXVIII. 

A SOEEOW-SOOTRTNG SCOTTISH LEGEND. 

Old age is justly considered as situated on the confines of the 
grave ; and. of course, the ravages that death makes in that ut- 
termost province of human life, excite no surprise. It is an 
adage nearly as ancient, perhaps, as time, that the old must die. 
Indeed, the aged may be said to die while they live. By little 
and little, they are losing, almost every day, somewhat of the 
very stamina of life ; and, even if no mortal disease supervenes, 
their earthly tabernacles must, ere long, be dissolved of mere de- 
cay. This natural process of dissolution is often so gradual as 
to be little perceived-, and least of all by the subjects of it ; but 
the process is constantly advancing, whether perceived or not. So 
far, therefore, from its being a marvel that the aged die at last, 
the marvel is that they live so long, considering the extreme 
brittleness of the thread of life, and the many hairbreadth es- 
capes from death, which they must have had during such a great 
length of time. 



118 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

On the contrary, 'premature deaths occasion not merely the 
bitterness of transient sorrow, but that rooted anguish which 
rises from disappointed hopes. And it is particularly so with 
regard to children, cut off in the flower of youth, or in the bud 
of infancy. Parental affection " hopeth all things; " and when 
the object of its fond hope is snatched away, it faints under the 
stroke, and is ready to say repiningly, — " It were better not to 
have had the gift at all." But when this object is an only 
child, the cup of anguish is not merely full, but it overflows. 
Bereavement of this last description is frequently noticed, in the 
Holy Scriptures, as most deeply affecting ; and. accordingly, pious 
writers, in all ages and countries, have been assiduously anxious 
to pour the balm of consolation into hearts, thus torn with an- 
guish. 

With such benevolent views, no doubt, was fabricated the 
ancient legend, or fable, with which I shall conclude these reflec- 
tions. It originated in the Scottish highlands, whose inhabitants 
have, in great part, borne a resemblance to the people of the 
patriarchal ages ; having, from time immemorial, led a pastoral 
life, and been remarkable for frugal plainness of living, for so- 
briety, and for zealous attachment to the holy religion they pro- 
fess. And a singular circumstance, which to them has given 
peculiar efficacy to the legend hereafter relafed, is, that they have 
been, and are, generally speaking, so tinctured with superstition, 
as firmly to believe in the frequency of supernatural visions and 
apparitions. I will only remark further, for explanation, that 
every highland householder, agreeably to an ancient custom, 
makes a festival for his friends and neighbors, on the death of 
any one of his family ; which funeral is called, The late Wake. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 119 

A married couple of the Scottish highlands, had lost thrice 
their only child, each dying at an early age. Upon the death of 
the last, the grief of the father became boisterous, and he uttered 
his plaints in the loudest terms. 

" The death of the child happened late in the spring, when, 
in the more inhabited straths, sheep were abroad ; but, from the 
blasts in that high and stormy region, they were still confined in 
the cot. In a dismal, snowy evening, the man, unable to stifle 
his anguish, went out, lamenting aloud, for a lamb to treat his 
friends with, at the late wake. At the door of the cot, however, 
lie found a stranger^ standing before the entrance. He was as- 
tonished, in such a night, to meet a person so far from any fre- 
quented place. The stranger was plainly attired; but had a 
countenance expressive of singular mildness and benevolence, 
and addressing him in a sweet, impressive voice, asked him, what 
he did there, amidst the tempest. He was filled with awe, which 
he could not account for, and said, he came for a lamb. — ( What 
kind of lamb do you mean to take ? ' said the stranger. * The 
very best I can find,' he replied, ' as it is to entertain my friends; 
and I hope you will share of it.' £ Do your sheep make any re- 
sistance when you take away the lambs, or any disturbance after- 
wards ? ' ' Never,' was the answer. £ How differently am I 
treated,' said the traveller. c When I come to visit my sheep- 
fold, I take, as I am well entitled to do, the best lamb to myself; 
and my ears are filled with the clamor of discontent by these 
ungrateful sheep, whom I have fed, watched, and protected.' He 
looked up in amaze ; but the vision was fled." 

If it be proper to add any thing at all here, I can think of 



120 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

nothing better than the Epitaph of Mr. Wesley's, upon an 
infant child : — 

" When the Archangel's trump shall blow, 
And souls to bodies join, 
"What crowds shall wish their lives below, 
Had been as short as thine ! " 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 121 



NUMBER XXIX. 

OF MATERNAL TENDERNESS — OR THE SORROWS OF THE DAUGHTER OF 

AIAH. 

Amongst the short but admirable sketches of nature, which the 
historical part of the Sacred Volume furnishes, there is one that 
has been very little noticed ; though had it been found in any 
other book of so early date, it would have been quoted, again and 
again, with peals of applause. It is recorded in the 21st chapter 
of the 2d book of Samuel, and consists of a simple, unvarnished 
tale of maternal tenderness, taken from real life. 

In the beginning of barley-harvest, seven sons of Saul were 
hanged up, all together, and it was ordered that their dead bodies 
should remain upon the gallows or tree, exposed to the birds and 
beasts of prey. Two of those young men were the sons of Riz- 
pah, Saul's concubine, whose conduct on that distressing occasion 
is described as follows : — " Eizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took 
sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning 
of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and 
6 



122 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor 
the beasts of the field by night." 

The sacred historian records this story as worthy of notice and 
remembrance, and, according to the usual manner of the penmen of 
the Holy Bible, he merely records it ; adding not a word of com- 
ment, or a single reflection of his own. Indeed, it is, of itself, a 
picture which needs no coloring, and which no art could improve. 

What was the moral or religious character of Rizpah, we are 
not told. Her being called Saul's concubine is no evidence that 
she was an abandoned character ; for concubine, probably, means 
here nothing more or worse than a wife of the secondary or subor- 
dinate rank, agreeably to the custom tolerated, though not sanc- 
tioned, under the Mosaical dispensation. Nor do we know if the 
two unhappy sons had treated their mother, at all, with filial kind- 
ness. Considering that they were branches of Saul's ungracious 
house, the greater likelihood is that the mother had suffered many 
a pang from the churlishness of their behavior. And be it even 
so, she but acted the genuine character of Mother, when she for- 
got the undutifulness of her sons in the yearnings of her compas- 
sion. 

If we except the few, in whose hearts natural affection has 
given place to the ambition of making a figure in the eyes of the 
public, — maternal tenderness is of universal extent, unless in those 
benighted regions where it has been blighted by a horrible super- 
stition. This species of affection is one of the primary qualities 
of human nature, and no talents nor accomplishments can supply 
its place. It is one of the main pillars of our race, which, with- 
out it, would quickly tumble to ruin. 

The child that has the mother with it, though born in the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 12 



Q 



most abject condition of life, has one friend at least ; — a friend, 
who loves it as naturally as she loves herself, and guards and 
fosters it from the same powerful feelings of nature, from which 
she guards and fosters her own life. And what though, as to the 
greater part of mothers, the maternal tenderness partakes more of 
animal instinct than of any rational exercise of the mind ? What 
though it is apt to run into a blind, excessive, and pernicious 
indulgence ? What though their misguided fondness for their 
infant progeny is aptly represented in the fable of the ape, that 
stifled her youngling with the violence of her embrace ? — All this 
only shows that the gifts of nature are pervertible, and that ill 
may be educed from good. The affection itself, peculiar to the 
maternal bosom, is implanted by the hand of God : it is a pre- 
cious part of female nature, and of immeasurable importance in 
its consequences. 

As a celebrated writer remarks, " The authority of a father, 
so useful to our well-being, and so justly venerable on all accounts, 
hinders us from having that entire love for him that we have for 
our mothers, where the parental authority is melted down into 
the mother's fondness and indulgence." 

Experience fully testifies to the truth of the above remark, 
and, at the same time, evinces the wisdom of the divine economy 
in this important particular. Filial affection, which is one of 
the most useful affections of our general nature, obtains its root 
and earliest growth from maternal tenderness. The fond and 
doting mother has our first love, which by degrees extends it- 
self to the other parent. Whereas, but for the indulgent soft- 
ness of female nature, which so irresistibly attracts the affections 



124 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

of our infancy and early childhood, there would be much less of 
pure, unsophisticated filial love than there now is in the world. 

Alas for the conduct of those children, who neglect their 
mother when she is old ! It manifests an unfeelingness of heart, 
and a brutality of disposition, exceeding the ordinary bounds of 
human depravity. 

While I am upon the subject of maternal tenderness, I will 
notice one of the bitterest of the bitter drops in the cup of early 
widowhood ; it is the loss of the only human being, who can so 
naturally participate in her yearnings to her infant offspring. 
This is exquisitely expressed in one of the poems of Mrs. Opie, 
a young widowed mother. 

" When to my heart my child I fold, 
She only deepens eyerf sigh : 
I think, while I her charms behold, 
How she'd have pleas'd her father's eye. 
And while I from her lisping tongue, 
Soft childhood's artless accents hear, 
I think, with vain remembrance wrung, 
How she'd have charm'd her father's ear." 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 125 



NUMBER XXX. 

OF PKUDENCE IN THE OEDINAKY COXCEEXS OF LIFE. 
"I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence." 

And what is this close intimate of wisdom ? — Not that niggard- 
ly, craving propensity, which occasions one to toil and moil like 
an emmet, without cessation, and without enjoyment — not that 
sordid disposition, which, appropriating every thing to self, 
withholds bread from the hungry — not the worldly spirit, that 
makes all its calculations with the sole view to present loss and 
gain — not the jealous temper that keeps, by day and night, a cat- 
like watch, and dares trust nobody — not the slyness that habitu- 
ally prefers stratagem to openness of conduct — not the cowardice 
that shrinks from the responsibility, or the danger, to which duty 
calls. — Though by a moral abuse of words, these, severally, have 
been dignified with the name of Prudence, they are very unlike 
that genuine prudence, with which wisdom deigns to dwell. 

Prudence of the right stamp, is the practical exposition 
both of a correct judgment and a correct heart. It regards the 
future as well as the present ; immortality as well as time ; and 



126 THE BRIEF REMAEKEK 

each according to their respective importance. It seeks the at- 
tainment of worthy objects by worthy and suitable means. It 
keeps tbe end in view, and the means it properly adapts to the 
end. It shuns the evil that is avoidable, and what is unavoida- 
ble it meets with resignation and firmness. 

An ounce of genuine prudence is worth a pound of unbridled 
genius. What signifies fine sense, exalted sense, even the 
best theoretical sense in the world, if it produces -worse than non- 
sense in practice ? What signifies it that one has great parts and 
great learning united, if, notwithstanding, he acts the part of a 
fool? 

" How empty learning, and how vain is art, 
Save where it guides the life, or mends the heart." 

Look at Bibulus, the most exalted, yet the most self-degraded 
of men ! Seemingly, he never thinks foolishly, nor ever acts 
wisely. Endowed with uncommon talents, and possessing the 
advantages of superior learning, his whole life, nevertheless, is a 
series of inconsistencies, errors and follies ; and all from the 
want of prudence, without which no man is truly great, nor can 
be useful to others, or even to himself. 

Prudence consists of soundness of judgment, together with 
firmness of resolution to follow the dictates of judgment. For 
want of such firm resolution many act absurdly, though they 
speculate wisely ; being drawn astray, contrary to their better 
knowledge, by indolence, by timidity, by ungoverned passion, or 
by their propensities to particular ruinous vices. 

Prudence, as particularly respects the concerns of this life, is 
a gift of Nature, distributed like intellect, in different degrees 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 127 

among mankind. Some discover the rudiments of it even from 
childhood. Others are naturally rash, headstrong, and disposed 
to follow the impulse of the moment, without either foresight or 
reflection, till taught to their cost, and, sometimes, happily cured in 
the school of experience. While others again, notwithstanding 
excellent advantages for learning discretion, continue, as to this 
particular, radically defective to the end of their lives. They 
have quickness of apprehension, readiness of wit, volubility of 
tongue, and, besides, Dame Experience has severely disciplined 
them in her school. But, all this notwithstanding, they still 
have the weakness of infancy in this particular; in middle age, 
and even to old age, their minds are yet in the cradle. 

But though the prudence, of which I am now speaking, is a 
natural gift, it is an improvable gift. Where there are any 
rudiments of it at all in the young mind, it may, by proper means, 
be strengthened and increased; and it is one of the essential 
parts of education to lead the pupil into the habit of forethought 
and reflection, and to cultivate in him a sturdy growth of well- 
directed Resoluteness ; which, in fact, is a main pillar of the 
human heart. As many persons are imprudent for want of 
education, so, unquestionably, the ruinous imprudences of many 
others are owing to a perverted or an unsound education : an 
education that leads them to contemn the condition allotted to 
them by Providence, and to restless aspirations after one that is 
unattainable. 

Some certain circumstances have been the means of imbuing a 
whole population with remarkable prudence, continuing for ag 
In Holcroft's Travels in Holland it is remarked: "The 
Dutchman living in continual danger of inundation, and of losing 



128 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

not only the fruits of his industry, but his life, becomes habitually 
prudent. His foresight is admirable, his perseverance not to be 
conquered, and his labors, unless seen, not to be believed." 
The Scotch, also, have, time out of mind, been, as it were, 
inoculated with prudence, as it relates to the various branches of 
economy ; and it is clearly accounted for from the peculiar 
circumstances of their history. In some other countries (unfor- 
tunately, in our own, for one instance), a concurrence of several 
extraordinary circumstances has occasioned very many thousands 
to be imprudent, rash, and desperately adventurous. And as on 
the large scale, so on the small, a sound education, correct 
habits, and a just way of thinking, in early life, generally lead to 
prudence of conduct in its following stages ; and so contrariwise. 

One of the many important branches of prudence, is carefully 
to avoid incurring enmities, as far as it can be done consistently 
with uprightness of character, and a good conscience. For sel- 
dom does one unnecessarily make an enemy of his fellow-creature 
that he does not find cause to regret it afterwards ; and as 
seldom has one had reason to be sorry that he has used the soft 
answer which turneth aivay ivrath. But instead of arguing 
this point, I will merely adduce a very curious and very instruc- 
tive specimen from the Memoirs of Franklin. 

" In 1736," observe the Reviewers, in the Analectic Maga- 
zine, " Franklin was chosen clerk of the General Assembly of 
Pennsylvania ; his first promotion, as he calls it in his narrative. 
The choice was annual, and the year following, a new member 
made a long speech in opposition to his re-election. We copy 
what he relates on this occasion, because it is every way charac- 
teristic.' J 



OX THE WAYS OF MAX. 129 

" c As the place was highly desirable for me on many accounts, 
I did not like the opposition of this new member, who was a 
gentleman of fortune and education, with talents that were likely 
to give him in time great influence in the House, which indeed 
afterwards happened. I did not, however, aim at gaining his 
favor by paying any servile respect to him, but after some time 
took this other method. Having heard that he had in his 
library a certain very scarce and curious book, I wrote a note 
to him, expressing my desire of perusing that book, and request- 
ing that he would do me the favor of lending it to me for a few 
days. He sent it immediately ; and I returned it in about a 
week with another note, expressing strongly my sense of the 
favor. When we next met in the House, he spoke to me (which 
he had never done before), and with great civility ; and he 
ever after manifested a readiness to serve me on all occasions, 
so that we became great friends, and our friendship con- 
tinued to his death. This is another instance of the truth of 
an old maxim that I had learned, which says, u he that has 
once done you a kindness, will be more ready to do you another, 
than he whom you yourself have obliged." And it shows how 
much more profitable it is prudently to remove, than to resent, 
return and continue inimical proceedings.' " 
6* 



130 THE BRIEF REMARKED 



NUMBER XXXI. 

OF THE VAST IMPORTANCE OF MANNER IN GIVING COUNSEL AND RE- 
PROOF. 

To exasperate is not the way to convince ; nor does asperity of 
language or of manner necessarily belong to the duty of plain 
dealing. So far otherwise, a scolding preacher, or a snarling 
reprover, betrays alike a gross ignorance of the philosophy of the 
human mind, and the absence of Christian meekness ; and how- 
ever zealous be his aim to do good, the provokingness of his 
manner will defeat the benevolence of his intentions. 

The following remarks are from the pen of a man, as distin- 
guished for Christian piety, as for superior genius — the immortal 
Cowper. " No man " (says that evangelical poet) '* was ever 
scolded out of his sins. The heart, corrupt as it is, and because 
it is so, grows angry if it be not treated with some management 
and good manners, and scolds again. A surly mastiff will bear 
perhaps to be stroked, though he will growl under that operation, 
but if you touch him roughly he will bite. There is no grace 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 131 

that the spirit of self can counterfeit with more success than that 
of zeal. A man thinks he is fighting for Christ, when he is 
fighting for his own notions. He thinks that he is skilfully 
searching the hearts of others, when he is only gratifying the 
malignity of his own, and charitably supposes his hearers desti- 
tute of all grace, that he may shine the more in his own eyes by 
comparison." 

Nor is either scolding or ridicule the proper way to cure men 
of their religious prejudices : for by inflaming their anger, it ren- 
ders their prejudices the more stubborn and inveterate. It is 
no matter how absurd, or even how monstrous their errors and 
prejudices may be ; if you offend them by the grossness of your 
manner, there is little hope of your convincing them afterward 
by the cogencj' of -your reasoning. 

The Baptist missionaries in India, at the first insulted, as we 
are told, the superstition which they attacked; and ridiculed 
and reviled the Bramins, in the streets and at their festivals, when 
the passions of the blinded and besotted populace were most likely 
to be inflamed. But experience taught those pious and apostol- 
ical men, that this was not the right way to make converts : 
for which reason, in 1805, they made a declaration of the great 
principles upon which they thought it their duty to act. " It is 
necessary," say they, " in our intercourse with the Hindoos, that, 
as far as we are able, w r e abstain from those things which would 
increase their prejudices against the gospel. Those parts of Eng- 
lish manners, which are most offensive to them, should be kept 
out of sight ; nor is it advisable at once to attack their prejudices, 
by exhibiting with acrimony the sins of their gods : neither should 
we do violence to their images, nor interrupt their worship." 



132 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Now if this forbearance from every thing provoking, whether 
in language or in manner, was expedient in dealing with £h« 
errors of the grossly idolatrous pagans, it is, assuredly, not less 
expedient for fellow-christians, in their treatment of the real or 
supposed religious errors of one another. Bitter revilings and 
contumelious denouncements always provoke, but never convince. 
If they are used instead of argument, they betray a conscious 
weakness, for it is much easier to revile and denounce than to 
argue. And furthermore, we are quite as apt to be furiously in 
the wrong as to be furiously in the right ; or, if even we know 
ourselves to be right as to matter, we put ourselves in the 
wrong as to manner, if we make use of foul weapons rather than 
of those which the armory of reason supplies. 

Manner is to be carefully studied by every one, whether in a 
public or a private station, who undertakes to reclaim the 
vicious or convince the erring ; for what would be beneficial if 
done in one manner, would be worse than labor lost if done in 
another. A haughty, supercilious manner never wins, seldom 
convinces, and always disgusts ; whereas that which indicates 
meekness, and unmingled benevolence and compassion, rarely 
fails of some salutary impression ; especially, if suavity of manner 
be accompanied with force of reasoning, and a due regard be had 
to time, place, and circumstances. 

No very long while ago, Mr. , an American clergyman, 

as distinguished for pious zeal as for eminent parts, was passing 
a river in a ferry-boat, along with company of some distinction, 
among which was a military officer, who repeatedly made use of 

profane language. Mr. continued silent till they had landed, 

when asking him aside, he expostulated with him in such a mov- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 133 

ing manner, that the officer expressed his thanks, and his deep 
sorrow for the offence ; but added withal, " Sir, if you had reprov- 
ed me before the company ', I should have drawn my sword 'upon 
you. v 

There are some who glory in it, that by their plain-dealing 
they wound the pride of those they deal with. Peradventure 
with greater pride they do it. Often we are so little aware of 
the obliquities of our own hearts, that we may be feeding and 
nourishing pride within ourselves, whilst we are zealously aiming 
our blows at the pride of others. Our love of chiding, our coarse 
bluntness, which we fondly term an honest plain-heartedness, or 
a warmth of zeal, may, possibly, spring from other motives than 
those of pure Christian benevolence. 

In the governance of children, very much indeed depends on 
Manner. If you provoke your children to anger, little will they 
regard, at the time, the wholesome counsel that is mingled with 
the provocation you give them. Reproof is ever a bitter pill to 
the receiver, and when administered, even to children, it must be 
done with visible marks of tender affection to sweeten it; else it 
will be more likely to do harm than good. 



134 THE BEIEF KEMABKEE 



NUMBER XXXII. 

OF TRUTH-SPEAKING AS DENOTING COURAGE. 

" Dare to be true ; nothing can need a lie ; 
The fault that needs it most, grows two thereby." 

It requires no inconsiderable degree of courage always to speak 
the truth. And hence, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, 
commonly termed the age of chivalry, the two points of honor in 
the male sex, were Valor and Veracity ; particularly a steadfast 
adherence to plighted faith, or one's word and promise ; lying or 
falsehood being considered as indicative of cowardice, and abhor- 
red rather for its meanness than for its moral turpitude. Accord- 
ingly, the chivalrous knights, whilst little regarding any part 
else of the second table of the holy decalogue, and least of ail 
the sixth, seventh , and tenth commandments, would, nevertheless, 
suffer any pains and penalties in preference to the imputation 
of word-breaking, lying, or prevarication. In the old Romance, 
Amadis cle Gaul. King Lisuarte being reduced to the dire alter- 
native of breaking his word, or delivering up his daughter into 
the hands of an utter stranger, he is represented as exclaiming, 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 135 

" My daughter must fare as God lias appointed ; but my word 
shall never be wilfully broken." 

The age of chivalry has long since past ; but some of its 
relics have floated down the stream of time, and are visible even 
at the present instant. In some of the high circles of fashion, 
as well among descendants of Europeans in other countries as 
in Europe itself, Valor and Veracity are considered not merely 
as indispensable requisites of a gentleman, but as almost the only 
points of honor that are necessary to his character. A man may 
be a blasphemer of God and religion, a notorious profligate, an in- 
mate of the brothel, a seducer of female virtue ; he may be all 
this, and yet be received into what fashion calls good company, 
with as cordial welcome as if his character were pure as the driven 
snow. But if he lie under the imputation of either direct cowardice 
or of the indirect cowardice of uttering a wilful falsehood, he is 
despised, banished, and proscribed, as unfit for the company of 
ladies and gentlemen. For which reason, a man of this sort of 
high fashion, when charged directly or by implication, with being 
a coward or a liar, finds his chivalrous spirit roused, and lifted to 
the highest pitch. Call him a foe to God, a debauchee, a violator 
of the connubial ties, — and he is able to laugh it off; for it does 
in nowise touch his honor : but call him a coward, or a liar, and he 
thinks nothing but your blood can wash away the stain. 

Apart, however, from the notions of chivalry, the vice of 
lying ranks among the meanest of vices. It is the vice of slaves. 
It is the vice that chiefl} r abounds among nations in political slavery 
and with that low and wretched class of our fellow-beiugs who 
are in personal bondage. Slavish fear prompts them to prevaricate 
and lie, as it were in self-defence. Nor is it the less mean for its 



136 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

becoming an attribute of freemen. Its meanness, as well as its 
guilt, is increased by this circumstance ; since in the last case 
there is far less urgency of temptation, and a far clearer knowledge 
of duty. Assuredly, with people possessing freedom and enjoying 
the light of Christianity, a strict regard to truth should be con- 
sidered as a cardinal point in character, and every species of wil- 
ful falsehood should be held in utmost disgrace ; not merely 
in disgrace for its meanness, but in abhorrence for its moral 
turpitude. 

Though, as I observed before, it requires courage to speak 
the truth at all times, and under all circumstances, yet this sort 
of courage is of no difficult attainment in the school of Christian 
morals. And as to the rest, speaking the truth is one of the easiest 
things in the world : for it is merely the expresssion of one's 
own perceptions, or of what lies clearly in his own memory. 
The veriest child, that has attained the use of the organs of 
speech, is capable of this. Whereas, to speak falsehood requires 
effort and art. Falsehood is fiction^ and needs invention and 
contrivance so to frame and fashion it as to make it bear the sem- 
blance of truth. As he that dances upon the rope, is not a mo- 
ment at his ease, but must constantly employ effort to keep his 
balance, even so it fares with a Jiar. His mind is ever on the 
alert to escape detection. And after all, the very expedients he 
uses for this end, often produce the consequences which he wishes 
to avoid. He proceeds, with cunning art, to cover one lie with 
another, till at last, the covering being too thin or too narrow, the 
whole series is clearly seen through. 

I will only remark further, that lying, even in its simplest and 
must inoffensive forms, is by no means free of all mischief. Con- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 137 

fidence is the cement, or rather the main pillar of society. With- 
out it friendship is but a name, and social intercourse a sort of 
war in disguise. And as falseness of speech, in any shape or 
degree whatever, has a tendency to destroy or weaken social con- 
fidence, so it tends, of course, to unhinge society. From this, as 
well as from the more solemn and more awful view of the sub- 
ject, it clearly follows that nothing is of greater necessity in the 
moral education of children, than to teach them betimes to pay a 
strict regard to truth 



138 THE BRIEF REMARKEP 



NUMBER XXXIII 



OF VULGAEITY . 



Thee.e are but few words in our language, that have a more 
grating sound in the ears of those who lay claim to good breed- 
ing, than the word vulgarity, insomuch that many a one 
had rather be thought vicious than vulgar. And what is vul- 
garity % This is rather a puzzling question, for the word is no- 
where clearly denned, nor is it capable of being exactly marked 
out by a definition. Profaneness, filthiness of speech, and a 
clownish awkwardness of manners, are only the grosser parts of 
vulgarity, which extends itself to almost innumerable particulars 
of human conduct, and not unfrequently into the fashionable 
ranks of society. But though it is in a manner undefinable, it 
admits of being explained, as it were, by piecemeal ; and this may 
be the better done by contrasting it with a quality, which every 
body of any decency of mind and character, professes to hold in 
respect. 

Vulgarity, then, is the direct opposite of courteousness. But 
here, again, arises a question — What is courteousness? Your 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 139 

dictionary will tell you, it implies something elegant — something 
beyond the reach of plain men and women of the common sort. 
But so it is not. When St. Paul, addressing himself to Chris- 
tians of all worldly grades and classes, even down to menials or 
slaves ; — when addressing himself to the lowest as well as to the 
highest, he bade them " be courteous" assuredly he did not mean 
that they must needs all be of elegant manners. No : it is full 
likely that Paul himself did not excel greatly in that particular : 
it was not, surely, the elegance of his manner, that made Felix 
tremble. Courteousness must mean, therefore, a something which 
is within the reach of all sorts of people ; and in its primary and 
best sense, it may be understood to mean exactly such a behavior 
as spontaneously springs from a heart, warm with benevolence : 
— whilst, on the contrary, vulgarity, as respects people of some 
rank in life, is the growth of cold selfishness always, and often 
of selfishness and narrowness of intellect combined. Vulgarity, 
in some shape or other, betrays itself as clearly at the very top 
as at the very bottom of the scale of life. 

Cardinal de Retz remarks of Cardinal Richelieu, a most puis- 
sant prime minister of France, "that he loved to rally others 
but could not bear to be rallied himself." So, also, it is said of 
the Great Frederick of Prussia, that his manner was to harrow 
up the feelings of his courtiers and attendants, by breaking his 
cutting jokes upon them without measure or mercy ; well knowing 
that they durst not offer any retort. These two instances clearly 
show that vulgarity may be found in the palace as well as in the 
cottage. The like may be frequently seen among the little great ; 
many of whom take a delight in wounding the feelings of those 
below them, merely because they are below them ;- -a detestable 



140 THE BKIEF KEMABKER 

fault, which sudden wealth, or sudden consequence of any kind, 
is peculiarly apt to draw after it. I say a detestable fault, because 
scarcely any thing betrays a more reprobate heart, than an unfeel- 
ing, brutal conduct toward inferiors ; as it usually springs from 
the odious compound of arrogance, vanity, and cowardice. 

We have no more right, wantonly or causelessly, to wound 
the mind than to wound the body of a fellow-being ; and in many 
instances the former is the more cruel of the two. 

Some persons, even in the blessed deed of giving alms to the 
needy, poison the gift by an ungracious manner of bestowment, 
accompanying it with a sour look, or, peradventure, with a bitter 
taunt. One of the wisest of the ancients noticed this species oi: 
vulgarity, and reproved it with the sound words following : " My 
son, blemish not thy good deeds, neither use uncomfortable words 
when thou givest any thing." 

There are some again, both men and women, who value them- 
selves highly upon a coarse bluntness, which they themselves call 
downright honesty and plain-heartedness. " We can't flatter, 
not we — ive must speak truth — if they will take it — so — if not — 
we* re plain." 

But hark ! not so fast. Pause a moment, and examine your 
own hearts, and, perchance, you may find that your manner par- 
takes more of pride or sourness, than of benevolence. If you 
wish to amend the faulty, assuredly this is not the way. Again, 
have you no faults at all of your own? Hardly will you pretend 
to absolute immunity in that respect. Well, then, ask your own 
hearts if you are willing to receive the same measure, which you 
mete out to others. If you can bear, in all cases, to be told 
roundly of your own faults, even the minutest of them, then, and 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 141 

not otherwise, you may seem fairly entitled to the privilege of 
giving it off so roundly to others. Then, and not otherwise, may 
you be at liberty, to deal out your bitter pills, without any regard 
at all to gilding or sweetening them. 

In short (for many things must I leave unsaid), any body, 
that knows the world, might easily show that the family of the 
Vulgars has branched out into a great many divisions and sub- 
divisions ; one or other of which embraces not a few, who would 
be very loath to own themselves members of that unhonored 
household. 



142 THE BRIEF EEMAEKER 



NUMBER XXXIV. 



DREX, UPON THEIR DISPOSITIOXS AND CHARACTERS IX AFTER-LIFE. 

"Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'd." 

Pope, 

It can hardly be imagined how much we are nnder the power of 
custom : it binds and fixes our inclination in almost any direc- 
tion. That which we are accustomed to. almost whatever it may 
be, acquires our attachment, and we are uneasy without it. If 
our customary food have been plain, simple, or never so coarse, it 
is sweet to our relish ; on the other hand, if we have been accus- 
tomed altogether to dainties, we shall feel a kind of loathing for 
the ordinary provisions of the human kind. The Black Broth 
of the Spartans (they being always used to it) was to them deli- 
cious, though loathsome to every body else. 

I once dined at an inn, in company with a lady who had 
"fared sumptuously every day." It was a plain dinner, and 
substantially good, but not such as she had been accustomed to, 
and the very sight of it threw her into tragical distress. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 14 



• > 



She was not hectical, nor in any manner sickly. Her form 
was the index of nothing less than of habits of abstemiousness. 
But, alas ! her stomach turned against every thing. She bare- 
ly tasted of this, of that, and of the other morsel, and laying 
down her knife and fork, her visage could scarcely have been 
more rueful, had she been under the hands of the executioner. 

Man is said to be " a bundle of habits." And what is habit ? 
Habit is the aptitude we acquire for what we are accustomed 
to, whether it relates to the body, or the mind, or both. As by 
frequency of repetition, we come to be more ready and expert in 
whatever we have to do ; so, also, by frequency of repetition, the 
appetite, the taste, the inclination, acquire a settled direction 
that way. Nay, if the thing we are accustomed to gives us little 
or no pleasure, its absence gives us pain. 

" I remember," says the far-famed Burke, c: to have frequent- 
ed a certain place every day, for a long time together ; and I 
may truly say, that so far from finding pleasure in it, I was affect- 
ed with a sort of weariness and disgust ; I came, I went, I returned, 
without pleasure ; yet if by any means I passed by my usual time 
of going thither, I was remarkably uneasy, and was not quiet 
till I got into my old track." — And he proceeds to say, " They 
who use snuff, take it almost without being sensible that they 
take it, and the acute sense of smell is deadened so as to feel 
hardly any thing from so sharp a stimulus ; yet, deprive the 
snuff-taker of his box, and he is the most uneasy mortal in the 
world." 

It might indeed be shown, in a great variety of instances, 
some of an indifferent, and others of a moral nature, that being 
accustomed to a thing induces, for the most part, such a settled 



144 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

habit as is aptly denominated a second nature. But my object 
is to apply the general principle to the all-important concern of 
education. 

Training up a child in the way he should go, consists not alto- 
gether in pointing out the way, but also, and chiefly, in accustom- 
ing him to walk therein. As the tree grows up straight or crook- 
ed, according to the direction given it when a plant, so, in a 
great measure, it is with animal nature. Of this truth we are 
deeply sensible in its application to the inferior animals, and our 
practice accords with our way of thinking. In training up 
young animals for use — a colt, for instance, or one of the canine 
breed — much care is taken to break them betimes of their faults, 
and to render them docile, and such as we wish them to be at 
mature age. Because experience teaches us, that if their faults 
are permitted to grow up with them, they will become inveter- 
ately fixed, and exceeding hard to cure. We know that if the 
one be suffered to kick, and the other to snarl and bite, at every 
body that comes near them, or if any other vicious trick be per- 
mitted to "grow with their growth," it would be unreasonable to 
expect to fashion them aright in after-time, when age shall have 
matured and confirmed their ill habits, and redoubled their ob- 
stinacy. Bightly judging on this point, we are practical, be- 
cause, forsooth, it would be a pity the young animal should be 
spoiled for want of attention to his training. 

How much less care, in this respect, is ordinarily paid to the 
training of the human offspring ! Not that we are sparing of 
pains and expense for the purpose of imbuing the young mind 
with the rudiments of learning. But having done this, we 
unscrupulously leave undone a still more important part, namely, 



UK THE WAYS OF MAN. 145 

the care to settle those habits, without which the possession of 
learning can turn to no good account. 

It is foolish to expect that children, accustomed to do evil. 
will in after-life learn to do well; no less foolish than to look 
for the growth of a fragrant flower in the spot, where you had 
dropped only the seed of a thistle. For the generality of hu- 
man beings are, throughout life, such, or nearly such, as early 
custom has fashioned them ; no animal being more wilful, more 
obstinate in the wrong, or harder to be cured of the ill habits 
which early custom has riveted. 

Consider it, ye who are parents of young children. If it be 
your choice that they should be idle men and women, rear them 
up in idleness. If you would render them helpless all their 
days, never compel nor permit them to help themselves. If 
you wish them to be fastidious and squeamish about their food, 
feed them daily with dainties. If you would have them gour- 
mands, cram their little bodies well, from morn till eve. If you 
would entail upon their mature age various ill humor, — as sullen- 
ness and obstinacy, discontent and peevishness, — indulge and 
foster betimes these wayward propensities. If you admire a 
quarrelsome, a violent, a revengeful spirit, permit their little 
hands to strike, and their little tongues to lisp out rage. Again, 
if you would train them up for cheats and liars, laugh at their 
cunning tricks, their artful falsehoods and equivocations ; or, if 
you rebuke them, let them see withal that you are more pleased 
with their wit. than displeased at the inceptive marks of their 
depravity. 

But if your desires and wishes be quite the reverse of all 
this; why then, take care against teaching your children, what 
7 



146 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

it will bo necessary for them to unlearn at a riper age. Take 
care to make such impressions on their tender infancy, as you 
would wish should be permanent and lasting. Never let it be out 
of your memories, that " habits woven into the very principles 
of their nature are unspeakably better than mere rules and les- 
sons, which they so easily forget." 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 147 



NUMBER XXXV. 

ON THE ADVANTAGES OF THE LONG-PROTK ACTED WEAKNESS AND DE- 
PENDENCE OF CHILDHOOD. 

There are none of the inferior animals that come into the world 
so helpless, and continue helpless for so great a length of time, 
as the human progeny. The young of the lower part of the 
animal creation are endowed with strength and activity, and, in 
many instances, with a sagacity that astonishes the beholder, and 
sets his philosophy at defiance. Very shortly they quit the 
dam, and become their own providers. But the infant is puling 
in the mother's arms for many months, and dependent on paren- 
tal care for as many years. 

Is this remarkable circumstance in the economy of our nature 
meant to be a burden, or a blessing? A blessing doubtless. 
Because in the helpless condition of the infant, which continues 
so long dependent on others, is laid the groundwork of the so- 
• cial ties. We learn first to show kindness at home. It is there 
that the social principles of our nature, ordinarily, are first put 
in exercise, and drawn forth into practice. 



148 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

The keystone of the fabric of society is laid in marriage, and 
the strong pillars of the superstructure are established in infancy. 
The helpless progeny — for a long while helpless — incessantly 
occupy the kind attentions of the parents, who are the more at- 
tached to their offspring from the very circumstance of their ut- 
ter weakness and dependence. The mother in particular, how 
cheerfully she foregoes her accustomed amusements and pas- 
times, and how constantly she confines herself to the charge of her 
infantile brood ! With what unspeakable tenderness does she 
nourish and cherish them, and watch over them day and night ! 
With what heartfelt joy does she perceive in them the dawning 
of reason and listen to their lisping prattle. And if too discreet 
to blaze abroad their little feats of activity, their pertinent ques- 
tions, and their witty remarks — so much beyond the ordinary 
condition of their age — yet all these she treasures up in her 
heart: — and in that fond heart are continually blooming new 
prospects, new hopes, and new joys. 

The affection of parents for their offspring is a species of 
affection that belongs to our universal nature. W'hether in the 
civilized or in the savage state, in every clime, and among all 
the tribes of man, parents love their children. This primary hu- 
man affection was exercised as soon as men began to multiply 
upon the earth. Ever since that period it has been a ruling pas- 
sion, every where, and under all the different modifications of so- 
ciety ; and though, strictly speaking,. it is not of itself amoral 
virtue, yet to be without it, is to be a monster. 

On the other hand, the long term of the infantile, dependent 
condition of children, is what chiefly generates filial affection, 
accompanied with respect, reverence, and obedient dispositions. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 149 

What if the human offspring, like the young partridge or quail, 
could shift for themselves almost as soon as born ? What if they 
could presently become their own protectors, and their own pro- 
viders ? Small, if any, would be their regard for their parents : 
feeble, if any, would be the ties of filial love. But. by means of 
their long condition of dependence and tutelage, there are super- 
induced in their minds sentiments and habits of love, respect 
and submissiveness : — sentiments and habits, which seldom wear 
off in the succeeding periods of life, but are carried into society 
with unspeakable benefit. 

On the same ground rests the whole fabric of education. 
The child, conscious of weakness, and utmost dependence, finds 
none on earth to look to for protection, food and raiment, but 
the tender and ever attentive parents, who, of course, in his esti- 
mation are of pre-eminent wisdom and worth. Hence he receives 
their instructions into willing ears, hearkens to their advice, and 
treasures up their precepts in his memory. In their hands he is 
capable, in some important respects, of being moulded like soft 
wax. 

Thus every family is of itself a little government. Every 
family is also a little academy, in which education, good or ill, 
has its beginning. Clusters of families form a particular society; 
and clusters of societies form a commonwealth or nation, which 
is exalted by righteousness, or debased by vice, in proportion 
as the discipline of the general mass of the families, that compose 
it. is good or bad. 



150 THE BRIEF EEMAEKER 



NUMBER XXXVI. 

OF THE MOBAL BEXEFITS ACCBUrXG TO PABENTS BY MEAXS OF THE 
GOOD IXSTBTTCTIOX THEY GIYE THEIE CHILDBED. 

The benefits resulting tc children, from a due attention to their 
early instruction in the rudiments cf learning and virtue, have 
frequently been the subject of able pens. Both in prose and in 
verse the} 7 have been described so clearly, and with so much ful- 
ness, that it would be difficult to add to what is written already. 
But it has been too little considered, of what unspeakable benefit 
good family instruction is to parents themselves. 

He that is teaching another, is teaching himself: and more 
especially is it so in a moral point of view. Those attentions, 
which parents give to the moral and religious instruction of 
their offspring, have a powerful tendency toward guarding and 
strengthening their own moral and religious feelings and habits. 
Hardly can they in serious earnest dehort their children from 
vice, without experiencing an increase of resolution to guard 
against it in their own lives ; or earnestly inculcate upon them 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 151 

the necessity of virtuous conduct, without acquiring an increase 
of desire and of carefulness to act virtuously themselves. They 
must needs be sensible that example has more influence on the 
young mind than precept, and that their good precepts will be 
thrown away unless they be careful to exemplify them in their 
domestic life and habits. They cannot but be conscious that 
their own example has a most powerful and decided influence in 
training up their children to honor or disgrace, to happiness or 
misery : and. consequently, they have in their children a constant 
stimulus to a virtuous, respectable course of behavior. 

While your attention is daily employed in training up your 
child in the way he should go, you are at the same time nurturing 
in yourself the things that are virtuous and 'lovely : you are 
ameliorating your own temper and disposition; and are attaining 
a double security against aught of word or act, that has the 
appearance of vice, or even of indecorum. So true is it, that 
your daily efforts to render your example worthy of the imitation 
of your child are daily remunerated — richly remunerated, by the 
benefits resulting from it to the frame of your moral nature, in- 
dependently of the benefits accruing to the child. Nor would it 
be hazarding too much to say, that the parents who have discharged 
the parental duties faithfully and discreetly, never yet failed 
of reaping, for themselves, an amount of profit far exceeding all 
the pains, even though the welfare of their children were alto- 
gether out of the question. 

The scene of marriage was originally laid, not amongst " the 
thorns and thistles" of the curse, but in the blissful abodes of 
paradise. The first divine benediction was pronounced upon the 
conjugal union of man and woman : and in no wise is it evincive 



152 THE BKIEF EEMAKKER 

of the narrowness of superstition to indulge a religious belief, that 
virtuous marriage has generally, in some respects or other, been 
crowned with the blessing of God, from the time it was first con- 
summated in the garden, up to the present day. 

" Domestic happiness, thou only bliss 
Of Paradise, that has survird the fall ! 
Tli on art the nurse of virtue." 

A well chosen conjugal relation tends to smooth the natural 
asperities of man, to soften his manners, to sweeeten his temper, 
and to expand his heart. The bachelor thinks of himself ; the 
married man of his family. The former becomes the more self- 
ish by reason that he has none but self to look after and provide 
for : the latter the more benevolent, for his having a wife and 
children dependent upon the daily kindness of his attentions. 
Having learnt first to show kindness at home, he is the better 
disposed and qualified to extend the charities of life to those 
about him in the circle of society. Other things being equal, 
the single circumstance of his having a family of his own, as it 
connects him more closely with society, so it renders him a more 
feeling, a more beneficent, and a more estimable member of it. 

It is agreeable to the order of nature, that we learn first to 
show kindness at home, and to those near about us ; that we re- 
gard, in the first place, the little parcels of human beings with 
whom we are the most intimately connected — our families, our 
near kindred, our neighbors and familiar acquaintances. The 
daily exercise of practical benevolence toward these, has a ten- 
dency to expand our hearts, and to replenish them with humane 
sentiments towards the rest of our fellow-beings. The braggart 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 153 

philosophers of modern time inverted this order of nature, and 
by means of that inversion they made philanthropy to be a mere 
ideal phantom, instead of a practical principle. Under the pre- 
tence of embracing the whole human species, alike, in the bonds 
of affection, they left no room in their hearts for any individuals 
of that species — not even for those who were nearest them in 
blood. Rousseau, the apostle, if not the father, of this counter- 
feit philanthropy, turned his own infant children (all of spurious 
birth however) into a foundling hospital, and never afterward, 
as it has been said, took the least notice of them, or so much as 
inquired about their welfare. Rousseau loved every body collec- 
tively \ but nobody particularly ; he was an enthusiastic friend of 
the human race considered as a whole ; but there was not, per- 
haps, one individual of that race, that he would have put himself 
out of the way to serve. 



154 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEE XXXVII. 

ON THE CONDITION OF OLD AGE — WITH DIRECTIONS TOR LIGHTENING 

ITS BURDEN. 

We are naturally desirous of long life, and yet are unwilling to 
be old ; agedness being regarded by us as the most dreary period 
of our earthly existence, not only as it borders upon the grave, 
but, also, by reason of the grievous infirmities with which it is so 
commonly visited. It is affecting to contemplate the ruins of art, 
— the once superb palaces and cities of antiquity lying in unsightly 
rubbish ; it is more affecting still to contemplate the ruins of that 
curious workmanship of nature, the human body ; and most affect- 
ing of all is it to contemplate the ruins of Mind, 

In the life of the Dean of St Patrick's, Dr. Swift, the follow- 
ing anecdote is peculiarly affecting. That celebrated genius, for 
a considerable time, had anticipated with anguish the calamity 
that befell him in the loss of his mental faculties. Not long be- 
fore the calamity came upon him, he was riding out in the com- 
pany of a number of ladies and gentlemen. On a sudden he 
put spurs to his horse, and rode forward till he was out of sight 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 155 

of his companions ; who, when they came up, found him upon his 
knees, under an aged oak, whose upper branches were dry and 
sapless while the stock was yet green. Upon being questioned 
about the singularity of his conduct in that instance, he replied, he 
had been making his fervent supplications to God, that he himself 
might not, like the tree he was under, be withered at the top. 

There is often a 'premature decay in mind. Ere the corrup- 
tible body stoops with age, the immortal part shows evident signs of 
impairment. It not only grows forgetful, but feebler in intellect ; 
and this not unfrequently happens to persons, well informed and 
of excellent intellectual faculties. In so far as it comes by 
the immediate act of God, or from contingencies which cannot be 
prevented or foreseen, it is a calamity that we can only deplore 
with humble reverence of the righteous hand that inflicts it. But 
in most cases it is owing to preventable causes : such as intem- 
perate drinking, gluttony, debauchery, and the general train of kin- 
dred vices, which war against the whole man, and bring both the 
body and the mind into premature decay and ruin. But not to 
speak of the causes which are so well known, and so generally ac- 
knowledged, I will mention one that has been little noticed — it is 
the habitual dereliction, or inaction of our rational faculties. 

Intellect often degenerates for want of exercise. Mental ex- 
ercise is no less necessary for sustaining the faculties of the 
mind, than is corporal exercise to the vigor and alertness of the 
bod} T . Nothing so much strengthens the memory as the frequent 
employment of it, by which it gains strength, as it were, mechani- 
cally ; whereas, on the other hand, habitual disuse never fails to 
abate its power. Also, our reason is a faculty, to which exercise 
gives development, growth, and strength. We learn to reason 



156 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

by reasoning, as we learn to walk by walking. As one whose 
limbs have for a long time been confined and motionless, loses, in 
some degree, the power of walking, so one who suffers this faculty 
of reason tu remain inactive, loses in some degree, the power of 
reasoning. Moreover, even speech is lost by long disuse. Some 
who had, for several years, been in a condition of solitude and 
utter seclusion from the company of fellow beings, were, when 
first restored to society, unable to articulate their mother tongue. 
Such, in particular, was the case of Alexander Selkirk, whose real 
history is veiled under the fictitious but pleasing tale of Robinson 
Crusoe. Now it is obvious that age naturally delights in repose ; 
in a conditon of quiet, both of body and mind ; of quiet bordering 
on inaction. It is visited with the feeling of lassitude not easi- 
ly overcome ; for which reason, the most of those whose prime has 
been spent in vigorous labor of thought, do in the evening of life 
remit this labor, considerably or altogether, and their minds fail 
for lack of exercise. 

It is, further, obvious to remark, that age seldom enjoys an 
equal participation in social intercourse. " Iron sharpeneth iron ; 
so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend." The mind 
can doze over a book, but engaging conversation arouses its 
dormant powers, and tends more, perhaps, than any thing else to 
give it tone and tension. But a great many of the aged are sol- 
itary and desolate. The companions of their youth, and even of 
their riper years, are mostly gone, and they have found none to 
supply their places. Living, as it were, alone in the world, their 
minds are no longer expanded and quickened by a living inter- 
course with society. 

If the topics, which have now been merely suggested, were 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 157 

considered in all their bearings and consequences, it would, I 
conceive, appear at least as a probable fact, that the imbecility of 
miods once strong, is more frequently the effect of their own 
torpid inaction, than of the impairing hand of time. 

To those who wish for the prolongation of their rational 
faculties (and who would not wish it ?) I will venture to suggest 
the following short hints. 

1st. " Be temperate in all things'' — in your desires, as well 
as in your enjoyments. 

2d. Cultivate contentment and cheerfulness of temper. " A 
cheerful heart doeth good like a medicine." Like a medicine, 
it harmonizes and invigorates the body and the mind : while 
morbid melancholy and peevishness powerfully tend to impair 
both. 

3d. So educate and so train up your children, if children you 
have, that they will, likely, be not only the props, but the 
delightful companions of your old age. 

4th. 'When the years draw nigh, or are actually come, in which 
the hand of time begins to bear hard upon you, beware of sinking 
into mental torpitude or inaction : by reading and contemplation, 
exercise daily the faculties of memory, of reason, and of judg- 
ment. 

5th. Neither withdraw from society, nor give society occasion 
to withdraw from you. As fast as the friends of your youth drop 
away by death, make to yourselves other friends from among the 
succeeding generations. It is not good that the old should con- 
sort with none but the old ; it tends to deepen the shade of the 
gloomy valley which they are passing through, and to accelerate 
the impairment of their minds. The company and conversation 



158 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

of the young, — nay, even the prattle of little children is animating 
to well-tempered age : and, on the other hand, age, that carries 
with it experience and good information, and possesses a due mix- 
ture of pleasant humor with becoming gravity, has it in its power 
to please, as well as to profit, the decent and ingenuous part of 
younger society. 

In conclusion : Lay hold of wisdom, as the only sure an- 
chor of age. " In her right hand is length of days." The firm 
belief and steadfast practice of our holy religion, — as it yields 
the consolation of hope, which as to the aged can no longer 
spring from the prospect of earthly enjoyments, — so it tends much, 
in every way, to invigorate the understanding and to preserve it 
from decay. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 159 



NUMBEE XXXVIII. 

OF THE SILLY QUAEEEL BETWEEX A YENEEABLE OLD COUPLE ABOUT 

A LITTLE GOAT. 

Tobit of old and his wife Anna, unluckily fell into a quarrel 
upon the question, how she came by the kid that he heard 
bleating in his house. He very uncourteously accused her of 
stealing it ; while she, in return, broadly hinted that, notwith- 
standing his pretensions, he was no better than he should be. 
cs Behold, thou and all thy works are known" 

u The tongue can no man tame." And besides, it is agreea- 
ble to the laws of pneumatics that the lightest bodies should rise 
the highest, especially in a tempest. Wherefore, in spite of the 
degrading subjection in which the wife was held under the hus- 
band in that age and country, Anna had the last word ; and a cutting 
word it was. Poor Tobit, it seems, had more than his match ; 
for the retort that his wife made upon him was so keenly sarcas- 
tic, and touched him so deeply, that he fell a weeping. Indeed 
he was not much to be pitied, as he was manifestly the aggressor. 
Had he patiently inquired into the matter instead of blurting 



160 THE BRIEF EEMARKEB 

our bis provoking suspicion?, the bitter fray between them had 
never been. 

This apocryphal text, which, peraciventure, was never treated 
of so formally and methodically before, embraces several points 
of sound and wholesome doctrine. 1st. The serenity of connu- 
bial life is very apt to be disturbed by sudden and unexpected 
gusts, unless special care be taken in this particular. If both 
husband and wife be of a mild and even temper, there is no dan- 
ger : or if one be so. and the other hasty, the danger is not so 
great: but if both be inflammable, there is need of the utmost 
watchfulness. A couple so tempered may. notwithstanding, be 
faithful, generous, noble-spirited, and kind-hearted, and may live 
together very lovingly in the main : but if they fail to keep a sharp 
look-out, now and then a gust arises, all of a sudden, and quite 
unexpectedly to themselves, and the house is made to ring from 
side to side. Some one. in his speculations on this subject, has 
recommended it. that a hasty couple should accustom themselves, 
ere they fly into a passion with one another, to utter in their hearts 
thrice the three following cooling words — Bear axd forbear. 

•2d. The most part of domestic feuds, perhaps nine in ten, 
spring from trifles.. " Behold how great a matter a little fire 
kindleth.' ; A word unfitly spoken, a sour look, a neglect, touches 
and stings the mind, and sometimes tires the tongue, and occasions 
a boisterous dispute : even though neither party can accuse or 
blame the other, in any matters of considerable moment.. For 
the prevention of this kind of domestic evil, permit me to of- 
fer the following recipe : " The Jesuits,"' according to an Ital- 
ian author — " The Jesuits, with whom none could vie in the 
pleasures of civil life, were exceedingly attentive to appear to 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 161 

each other in the most amiable light. The polite behavior of 
the first day was uniformly preserved by them, during the many 
years they continued together ; so that the honeymoon of their 
consociation, if this expression may be allowed, lasted for their 
lives. This reciprocal complaisance, at first merely adopted, was 
improved by habit into a solid, uninterrupted, and happy friend- 
ship." 

The application is obvious. — Go. and do likewise. 

3d. As amongst neighbors, so in domestic or conjugal life, sharp 
contentions arise from judging of matters prematurely, or before 
they have been duly investigated and weighed. In this respect. 
Tobit was sadly out of the way. He should have questioned Anna 
mildly about the bleating kid ; asking her in a pleasant tone, 
how and whence it came; and, if not satisfied with her an- 
swers, he should have searched elsewhere for the truth. But no. 
Such was the flurry of his spirits, that he acted with as much 
assurance and decision upon a mere impression, as if he had had 
proof positive. Neither is this a solitary instance : the like has 
often happened to the great discomfort of social and domestic 
life. It ought to be deeply engraven on the mind and memory 
of man and woman, that " he that answereth a matter before he 
heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him." 

4th. In the state of matrimony, hardly any thing is more 
discomforting, or more deadening to the delicate affection of love, 
than overmuch suspiciousness of temper. Groundless suspicions, 
repeatedly manifested, never fail to cool the love and excite the 
ire of the suspected party. And here again. Tobit deserves the 
lash of severe censure. He acted the part of a suspicious hus- 
band. And no wonder that Anna, an honest ns well as indu*- 



162 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 

trious housewife — no wonder that she was stung to the quick at 
being suspected of so heinous an offence It was no wonder that 
her spirits were aroused, and being well gifted in that particular, 
that she used her tongue in the able manner she did. 

One thing more, and I shall have done. Let no man take 
occasion from this subject to ridicule or despise marriage. It has 
passed into a proverbial saying, that there are but few happy 
matches : and, in one sense, it is true. There are few in compari- 
son of the whole, who are very happy in marriage. But permit 
me to ask, — are there a great many that are very happy in the 
single condition ? Is the bachelor entitled to glory in his choice, 
or to boast of a superior degree of felicity ? He. who has no one 
that naturally cares for his person — -no one that takes a lively 
interest in his concerns~no one that participates of his feelings 
of joy or deeply sympathizes in his adversities, sicknesses and sor- 
rows — no tenderly-throbbing bosom, on which to rest his weary 
head. 

On the reverse of this picture, behold the married man. 
Perhaps his wife is not, in some respects, quite as he would wish. 
Perhaps she has turns of unpleasant humor, and sometimes gives 
him pain by her peevishness or obstinacy. Yet she is faithful to him , 
and to his interests. Though, at times, she herself assaults him, 
with her tongue, on no account will she suffer any body else to do 
it. His joys and his sorrows are hers. In his outgoings, her 
heart blesses him ; and after days or weeks of absence, she affec- 
tionately greets him on his return. His food, his apparel, the 
decencies of his appearance, are objects of her daily attention. 
His every ailment of body meets her sympathy, and quickens 



N THE WAYS OF MAN 1C3 

her cure. In his heavy sicknesses / scarcely does she give sleep 
to her eyes, or slumber to her eyelids. 

" With a soft and silent tread, 
Nimble she moves about the bed.* 

Anxiously she watches the symptoms : carefully she admin- 
isters the medicines ; she responds to every groan, and with 
eagerness catches at every glimmer of hope. 

Judge now. which of the two is the happier man. 



164 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEK XXXIX. 



OF FRIENDSHIP, AND THE CHOICE OF FRIENDS. 



" Give me the man, whose liberal mind 
Means general good to all mankind ; 
Who, when his friend, by fortune's wound, 
Falls, tumbling headlong to the ground, 
Can meet him with a warm embrace, 
And wipe the tears from off his face.'' 



In the choice of friends, much regard is to be had to the qualities 
of the head, but much greater still to those of the heart ; for if 
that be radically wanting in integrity and honor, the more allur- 
ing is every thing else in personal character, the more dangerous. 
Catiline, with the worst of hearts, was possessed of personal accom- 
plishments in a transcendent degree. He had the art of accom- 
modating his manners and conversation to people of all tempers 
and ages. Cicero said of him ; He lived ivith the sad severely, 
with the cheerful agreeably, with the old gravely, ivith the young 
pleasantly. All accomplished as he was, the viciousness of his 
moral character was manifoldly the more seductive, contagious, 



OX THE WAYS OF MAX. 165 

and pernicious to the community at large, and to the young espe- 
cially. He easily insinuated himself into the friendship of the 
Roman youth, whom he corrupted and ruined. 

Close intimacies, suddenly formed, often end in disappointment 
and disgust, and to the injury of one or other of the parties. It 
is a dangerous imprudence to trust any one as a friend, without 
good evidence of his being trustworthy : without good evidence 
that he has neither a treacheous heart, a fickle temper, nor a 
babbling tongue. Often, very often, have the young of both sexes 
smarted under the consequences of such imprudence. 

Equality in point of external circumstances, is not always a 
necessary preliminary to intimate and permanent friendship. The 
friendship between David and Jonathan, for unshaken fidelity and 
sublime ardor, has scarcely a parallel in history ; yet the one was 
a shepherd of mean rank, whilst the other was of blood royal, 
and heir apparent to the throne. But though it is not always 
necessary that two close friends should be equal in their worldly 
conditions, it is necessary that their deeds and offices of kindness 
be reciprocal, else one becomes & patron and the other a depend- 
ent. If one be greatly outdone by his friends in acts of kind- 
ness, or receive benefits at their hands which he can never in any 
wise repay, they will regard him as their debtor on the score of 
friendship, and he himself must be wounded by the mortifying 
consciousness of bankruptcy in that respect. Hence there have 
been instances of proud-hearted men becoming the enemies, and 
even the destroyers, of their greatest benefactors, in order to rid 
themselves of a burdensome debt of gratitude. 

One should be careful to show as much fidelity, as much at- 



166 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

tention, as much kindness to his friend, as he would require of 
him in similar circumstances. 

Between frail imperfect creatures, there cannot be perfect 
friendship ; and when one discards a friend for some trifling 
negligence, for an ungracious expression, or for his not having 
added the hundredth to his ninety-nine obliging acts, he is not 
worthy of having a friend, nor can he have one long. 

It has been said that warm friends make warm enemies ; but 
it is seldom so, except in cases of flagrant infidelity on the one 
side or the other. The truth is, very warm friendships (unless in 
the domestic state) are rarely lasting, by reason that they are 
above the ordinary tone of human nature, and therefore require 
much attention, and a constant exchange of obliging offices to 
keep them good. Whenever attention abates on the one side or 
the other, such friendship experiences a chill, and gradually cools 
down at length to indifference ; but no positive enmity necessarily 
follows. 

The friendship between persons notoriously wicked (if friend- 
ship it may be called) naturally turns to fear. As they know 
they cannot trust one another, so they constantly harbor a 
mutual jealousy, bordering upon, and often ending in downright 
hatred. 

There is too much truth, generally speaking, in the following 
lines of Goldsmith : 

" And what is friendship but a name, 
A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
But leaves the wretch to weep." 



ON THE WAYS OF MA.N. 167 

When a man falls into misfortune, it often happens that some 
of those he had most befriended while in prosperity, are the first to 
forsake, and even to censure and reproach him. The reason is 
plain : they forsake him because they think him a pigeon no 
longer worth the plucking ; and they reproach him to balance old 
scores. 

The book in the world that best unfolds the human heart, is 
the Bible. There we find a man of vast substance ; as liberal as 
he was rich, and as pious as liberal. A man who was i: eyes to 
the blind, and feet to the lame, " who " was a father to the 
poor j" and whose charitable hand and consoling voice " made the 
widow's heart sing for joy." While K the candle of the Lord 
shined upon his head, " unbounded respect was paid him. The 
old as well as the young, princes and nobles as well as peasants, 
did him obeisance. He had friends without number : close 
friends — friends fixedly determined never to forsake him in his 
prosperity. 

With unerring aim, and to answer the mysterious purposes 
of infinite wisdom, heaven's arrow was pointed at the bosom of 
this very man. In a single hour he fell from the height of 
prosperity to the lowest depths of human wretchedness. Bereft 
of all his child renat a stroke, reduced to poverty and need, covered 
from head to foot with disease, he sat upon the ground, — left 
there to weep his woes by himself. His friends as well as his 
fortune had left him. They stood aloof, and, with scorn rather 
than commiseration, eyed him afar off. He called after them 
— u Have pity upon me ! have pity iipon me ! " — but called in 
vain. Even the very few that drew near, ostensibly to comfort 
him did but add grief to his sorrow. With rugged hands and 



168 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

unfeeling hearts, they tore yet wider his bleeding wounds, but 
poured in no balsam. 

Suddenly, " the Lord turned the captivity " of this self-same 
man, and even doubled the prosperity of his best days. And no 
sooner was that known, than his old friends, who had forsaken 
him, came back of their own accord, and were ready enough to 
fasten themselves upon him. Then, and not till then, " came 
all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all that had been of his 
acquaintance before, and did eat bread with him in his house." 
His good cheer restores him to their good Liking. 

Yet, unfeeling as the world is, there are some in it, and I 
hope not a few, who are the same in the black night of adversity 
as in the sunshine of prosperity. These are of the right stamp. 
— Reader, hast thou a friend of this sort ; one who was thy fa- 
ther's or thy mother's friend in distress ; one who has readily 
befriended thyself in time of utmost need ? — Then hast thou 
a pearl of inestimable worth — lock it close to thy bosom. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 169 



NUMBEE XL. 

OF THE IMPORTANCE OF LEARNING TO SAY, NO. 

A very wise and excellent mother gave the following advice, 
with her dying breath — " My son, learn to say, No." Not that 
she did mean to counsel her son to be a churl in speech, or to be 
stiff-hearted in things that were indifferent or trivial — and much 
less did she counsel him to put his negative upon the calls of charity 
and the impulses of humanity ; but her meaning was that, along 
with gentleness of manners, and benevolence of disposition, he 
should possess an inflexible firmness of purpose — a quality beyond 
all price, whether it regards the sons or the daughters of our fallen 
race. 

Persons so infirm of purpose, so wanting in resolution, as to 
be incapable, in almost any case, of saying No, are among the 
most hapless of human beings ; and that, notwithstanding their 
sweetness of temper, their courteousness of demeanor, and what- 
ever else of amiable and estimable qualities they possess. 
Though they see the right, they pursue the wrong ; not so much 
8 



170 THE BRIEF REMARKED 

out of inclination, as from a frame of mind disposed to yield to 
every solicitation. 

An historian of a former and distant age, says of a Frenchman 
who ranked as the first prince of the blood, that he had a bright 
and knowing mind, graceful sprightliness, good intentions, com- 
plete disinterestedness, and an incredible easiness of manners ; 
but that, with all these qualities, he acted a most contemptible 
part for the want of resolution ; that he came into all the factions of 
his time, because he wanted power to resist those who drew him 
in for their own interests ; but that he never came out of any 
but with shame, because he wanted resolution to support himself 
whilst he was in them. 

It is owing to the want of resolution, more than to the want 
of sound sense, that a great many persons have run into impru- 
dences, injurious, and sometimes fatal to their worldly interests. 
Numerous instances of this might be named, but I shall content 
myself with naming only one — and that is, rash and hazardous 
suretiship. The pit stands uncovered, and yet men of good sense, 
as well as of amiable dispositions, plunge themselves into it, with 
their eyes wide open. Notwithstanding the solemn warnings in 
the Proverbs of the Wise Man, and notwithstanding the examples 
of the fate Gf so many that have gone before them, they make 
the hazardous leap. And why ? Not from inclination, or with 
a willing mind, but because being solicited, urged, and entreated, 
they know not how to say, No. If they had learned not only to 
pronounce that monosyllable, but to make use of it on all proper 
occasions, it might have saved from ruin themselves, and their 
wives and children. 

But the worst of it is still behind. The ruin of character, of 



ON THE WxVYS OF MAX. 171 

morals, and of the very heart and soul of man, originates often in 
a passive yieldingness of temper and disposition, or in the want 
of the resolution to say No. Thousands and many thousands, 
through this weakness, have been the victims of craft and deceit. 
Thousands and many thousands, once of fair promise, but now 
sunk in depfavity and wretchedness, owe their ruin to the act of 
consenting, against their better judgments, to the enticement of 
evil companions and familiars. Had they said No, when duty, 
when honor, when conscience, when every thing sacred demanded 
it of them, — happy might they now have been — the solace of 
their kindred, and the ornaments of society. 

Sweetness of temper, charitableness of heart, gentleness of 
demeanor, together with a strong disposition to act obligingly, 
and even to be yielding in things indifferent, or of trifling mo- 
ment — are amiable and estimable traits of the human character : 
but there must be withal, and as the ground-work of the 
whole, such a firmness of resolution as will guarantee it against 
yielding, either imprudently or immorally ', to solicitations and 
enticements. Else one has very little chance, in passing down 
the current of life, of escaping the eddies and quicksands that lie 
in his way. 

Firmness of purpose is one of the most necessary sinews of 
character, and one of the best instruments of success ; without it, 
genius wastes its efforts in a maze of inconsistencies, and brings 
to its possessor disgrace rather than honor. 



172 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEK XLI. 

OF THE CALAMITIES OE HEEEDITAEY IDLENESS. 

We cannot, if we will, make ourselves torpid, like an oyster. 
We must needs be doing something with our existence, or endure 
else a wearisome load, as undescribable as it is intolerable. In- 
deed, occupation of one kind or other is so necessary to human 
quiet, that life itself is burdensome without it. For short as life 
is, there are but few who never complain at heart of the super- 
fluity of their time. Whereas the wights, great and small, who 
have nothing at all to do, are, for the most part, perpetually 
uttering this most dolorous kind of complaint, or, at least, mani- 
fest no ordinary degree of restlessness — being burdened with 
their time much more than the most busy are burdened with 
their business. 

The misery of idleness is to be seen nearly as much in high 
life, as in the rags and filth of extreme poverty. In Europe 
there are classes of people who are idle, as it were, out of neces- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 173 

sity : not that they are unable to find employ, but they are unable 
to find such employ as they think comports with their dignity. 
Manual labor of any kind would degrade them ; nor does the 
condition of their rank allow them to enter into trade, or even to 
embrace airy of the learned professions. In fact, save those few 
who are selected to take part in the administration of govern- 
ment, or who are placed in high military stations, they are con- 
demned, by the exalted condition of their birth, to perpetual idle- 
ness. And what is the result? It is that this very exaltation 
of birth, which places them so far above all ordinary business, 
makes them doubly wretched. 

' ; There is scarcely any truth more certain or more evident," 
says a writer who was possessed of a personal knowledge of the 
splendid group whose picture he has delineated, " than that 
the noblesse of Europe are, in general, less happy than the com- 
mon people. There is one irrefragable proof of it, which is, that 
they do not maintain their own population. Families, like stars 
or candles, which you will, are going out continually ; and with- 
out fresh recruits from the plebeians, the nobility would in time 
be extinct. *[f you make allowances for the state, which they 
are condemned by themselves to support, they are poorer than 
the poor — deeply in debt — and tributary to usurious capitalists, 
as greedy as the Jews." 

Persons in the intermediate grades between the very top and 
the very bottom of the scale of life, have precious advantages 
over those who are placed in either extreme. That they have 
advantages over the lowest, all will readily admit ; and that they 
have some important advantages over the highest, is a position 
equally true. In point of real, solid comfort and happiness, the 



174 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

condition of the farmer or mechanic, who supplies his daily wants 
by the labor of his own hands, is infinitely preferable to that of 
the noblesse, above described ; who, for want of regular occupa- 
tion, are under the hard necessity of taking a deal of pains, and 
of resorting to numberless expedients and devices, to wear out 
the tedious moments of their earthty existence. Even whilst^ 
with utmost eagerness, they are seemingly pursuing pleasure, 
their chief efforts are to escape from misery, by killing the time 
which hangs so heavily upon their minds and hearts. For as to 
pleasure, they are so surfeited of it, that they seek it only a^ 
preferable to the distressing tediousness of total inaction. 

Although, fortunately, in these United States, there are no 
hereditary ranks, that fix, as it were, by never-ending entailment^ 
the baneful disease of sloth upon particular families ; yet exces- 
sive wealth produces, not unfrequently, the like effects. " After 
a gatherer comes a scatterer" is a proverbial saying, which, in 
whatever country it originated, is nowhere, perhaps, more strik- 
ingly matter-of-fact than in our own. Indeed, nothing can be 
more natural than the process. The " gatherer," if he have 
gathered a very large heap, is, of course, a man of great worldly 
prudence ; but so far from being able to bequeathe that quality to 
his children, the single circumstance of their being set up in the 
world with fortunes, has an almost irresistible tendency to ren- 
der them imprudent and improvident. You cannot put the old 
head upon the young shoulders. You can hardly convince the 
rich-born youth, that considerable care and attention will be ne- 
cessary on his part, merely to keep the fortune that falls to him. 
There is more than an even chance that he will be either carelessly 
indolent, or prodigally dissipated ; that he will either waste his 
time in idleness, or spend it in vain, if not vicious pursuits. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 175 

The vanity of wealth will alike affect his children and his 
children's children. They will dote much upon the circumstance 
of their springing from an opulent stock, and, by natural conse- 
quence, will feel themselves quite above the ordinary occupa- 
tions of life. Meanwhile, the family estate will have been 
divided and subdivided, till the share of each comes to be very 
small. A sort of stateliness, is, however, kept up in their nar- 
row circumstances, and even in their poverty. They preserve, 
with a sort of religious reverence, old pictures, little fragments 
of plate, or some precious memorial or other of what once was. 
For the pride of family, founded altogether upon wealth, seldom 
suffers much abatement by the ruin of that foundation. Thus it 
is, that the needy descendants of a very rich family are in a 
worse condition, by far, than most others of the sons and daugh- 
ters of want; since the indolence of their habits, and the mag- 
nificence of their notions, alike disable them for procuring a com- 
fortable livelihood, and for enjoying the little they possess. 

There is one kind of revolution that is perpetually going on 
in this country ; — the revolution in fortunes. The rich families of 
the last age, all but a few, are utterly extinct as to fortune ; and, 
on the other hand, the families that now figure in the magnifi- 
cence of wealth, are, in general, the founders of their own for- 
tunes ; not a few of them having emerged from obscurity, and some 
from the deepest shades of poverty. The revolutionary wheel is 
still turning, and with a few turns more, it will turn down a great 
part of the present rich families, and will turn up, in their stead, 
an equal, or perhaps greater number, from the poor and the mid- 
dling classes. This course has well nigh as firm a fixture, as 
have the changes of day and night. 



176 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEK XLII. 

OF THE LAMENTABLE SPECIES OF HELPLESSNESS OCCASIONED EY PKIDE 

AND FALSE SHAME. 

Teach your children to help themselves, is a practical maxim, de- 
serving more general notice than it ever yet lias obtained, or per- 
adventure ever will obtain, in this scornful and foolish world. 
The highest and most important part of the art of teaching is to 
train the young mind to think for itself, and to exercise and 
exert its faculties of judgment and understanding, as well as of 
memory ; for these faculties grow and increase only by exercise. 
The less they are exercised in childhood, the more feeble they 
come to be in manhood. And besides, one who has been unac- 
customed to the exertion of thought in the early years of life, 
commonly lacks all disposition to accustom himself to it after- 
wards ; it being a kind of labor, which early habit makes pleas- 
ant, but which early neglect renders intolerably irksome. 

And as children should be led to think for themselves, or to 
exert those faculties which pertain to the mind only ; so, also, 
should they be inured to the exercise of those mixed faculties, 
that call forth the exertion of the mind and body conjointly. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 177 

This class of exercises is of more easy performance, especially in 
childhood, than the other. It is altogether natural too ; and it 
tends to give vigor and alertness alike to the mental and the cor- 
poreal frame. If children be made to help themselves as soon 
and as much as they are able, it wonderfully conduces to the im- 
provement of their faculties, and has, at the same time, an aus- 
picious influence upon their dispositions. Whereas, if they are 
accustomed to have every thing done for them by others, that others 
can do, the rust of sloth and the canker of pride will be full apt 
to spoil whatever of excellence nature has bequeathed them. 

Childhood and youth are periods of life, which materially in- 
fluence all its following periods. "Whether these early years be 
passed in torpid indolence, or in well-directed industry, is a point 
on which greatly depends the worth or the worthlessness of 
human character. What man or what woman, that has a relish 
for intellectual pleasure, cannot trace that relish down to the 
days of childhood ? Where is the man who guides his affairs 
with discretion, or the woman that " looketh well to the ways of 
her household," and yet was not in some measure imbued with 
industrious and provident dispositions, in early life? On the 
other hand, who that had been treated, till the age of twenty, 
like a helpless infant, and had every want supplied without 
being put to either mental or bodily exertion, was ever good for 
any thing afterwards ? I freely admit, indeed, that there are 
some honorable exceptions ; but they are like the few exceptions 
to a well-established general rule. 

It is the misfortune of high rank and great wealth, that the 
children of families, so distinguished, are often treated as help- 
less till they become so in reality. They must have waiters 



178 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

to do for them a multitude of little things, which it would be 
greatly for their benefit to do for themselves. They must be 
served with such assiduity as to supersede, almost, the use of 
their own limbs. They have feet, but they walk not ; hands 
have they, but they use them not, except for putting their food 
and drink to their mouths. And are they happy ? No : it is of 
the nature of this kind of training to render them discontented, 
peevish and querulous all their lives, even though fortune should 
never forsake them. And if they chance to fall into poverty, 
they are wretched indeed — no less incapable than unwilling to 
earn a livelihood by industry. 

But the sum of the mischief would be not so great, if it were 
confined altogether to families of high rank or great wealth ; for 
these are comparatively very few. It is the feverish desire of 
aping the stateliness of rank and the pomp of wealth, that occa- 
sions the commonness of this perverted education, and the huge 
mass of wretchedness which follows it. 

Madam is a branch of what had been called a good 

family. The estate is run out, and she is poor and dependent. 
She retains, however, some precious relics of former splendor. 
With these she feeds her vanity. Not unfrequently she boasts 
that never in all her lifetime did she defile her hands with labor; 
and she would swoon at the thought that one of her maiden 
daughters should descend to the business of a milliner, or that 
the other should marry a substantial tradesman. 

Mrs. has no rich ancestry or great connections to 

boast of, and her worldly circumstances are but indiiferent ; but 
the darling wish of her heart is, the elevation of her children. 
Wherefore she moils and toils day and night, gives herself no 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 179 

rest, impairs her constitution by overwork, for the goodly purpose 
of bringing up her children in genteel idleness, that so perchance 
they may obtain the notice of the better sort. 

Not a few, but numerous are the instances of those, who vol- 
untarily encounter dolorous straits and hardships merely through 
the instigation of vanity and pride. Comfortable, if not happy, 
might they be, if they would only discard these foes to their 
peace, and consumers of their substance. And what makes it 
the more strange, these same persons, in other respects, are in 
their sober senses, and some of them not only rational, but 
agreeable ; it is only in this one particular that they show marks 
of insanity. 



180 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XLIII. 

OF THE PEOPEE AND IMPEOPEE, AS DEPENDING UPON THE DIVEESE OIE- 

CTTMSTANCES AND AGES OP LIEE. 

The love of propriety, along with an accurate perception of the 
difference between ikeqvroper and the improper, is an estimable 
quality in human beings ; for though it is not a virtue in its best 
and highest sense, it is virtue's shield and ornament. To 
woman, in particular, it is a pledge of honor, and a diadem of 
beauty. 

There are women who, without any extraordinary strength of 
intellect, or advantage of education, discover a sort of intuitive or 
instinctive perception of propriety, on all occasions and under 
all circumstances — far surpassing, in that particular, most men 
of even talents and learning. Solomon, with a single stroke of his 
pen, has given us the portraiture of such a woman. u She openeth 
he?' mouth with wisdom ; and in her tongue is the law of kind- 
ness" Here are blended two characteristic traits, of which 
neither would show well by itself. Discretion unaccompanied 
with kindness — mere selfish, cold-hearted discretion, whether 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 181 

found in man or woman, has very little claim to commendation. 
She is a woman but in name, who has no heart in her bosom. On 
the other hand, kindness is very liable to error, and even to fatal 
error, when it lacks the guidance of discretion. Whereas the 
union of these two qualities, crowned withal with that essential 
requisite, the fear of the Lord — renders female character alike 
respectable and lovely. A woman of this description, though des- 
titute of the advantages of beauty, or youth, or wealth, or wit, is 
an ornament to the human family ; while to her own family she 
is one of the first of blessings. 

The laws of propriety not only comprise all the laws of 
morality — for nothing that is immoral can be proper — but they 
reach to a vast variety of things, that in themselves are indiffer- 
ent : — their propriety or impropriety depending on time, place, 
age, circumstances or cases, without name or number. Far from 
attempting to explore this boundless field, I shall but mention 
two articles culled from it. 

First. What may be quite proper for some persons, may be 
very improper for others. For instance, it is proper for the rich, 
if they choose it, to make the appearance of riches in their build- 
ings, their furniture, the elegances of their tables, the superior 
quality of their apparel, or in any lawful way else, which their 
circumstances can well afford. If a rich man make him great 
works — if he build him costly houses — if he plant him fine 
gardens, furnished with pools of water, " to water therewith the 
wood that bringeth forth trees," — or if he array his household in 
splendid apparel — there is no impropriety in all this, provided 
the clear income of his estate be fully sufficient to defray these 
expenses, over and above what is due to the calls of charity. It 



182 THE BKIEF REMARKER 

is much better than to let his gold and his silver lie and rust in 
moth-eaten bags; for, by giving employ to so many artists and 
laborers, he encourages and rewards industry, and becomes the 
prop and support of the industrious poor that are about him. 

But — mark the difference — when a man that is not rich, 
affects the manner of the rich, the impropriety of his conduct is 
manifest to all but himself, and he is only laughed at for his pains. 
Would it were an uncommon case ! So it is not. There are 
thousands of this sort ; thousands that are pawning the first and 
essential necessaries of life, and sinking themselves into debt and 
pitiless poverty ; — and all for mere show. What a mass of 
wretchedness and misery might be prevented by a timely cure of 
this single folly ! No kind of fascination is more generally preva- 
lent, and there is scarcely any one that draws after it more ruin- 
ous consequences. 

Second. The other of the two points that I proposed to notice, 
is, that certain things, which are proper at one time of life, are 
improper at another. In a qualified sense, " to every thing there 
is a season." Childhood is the season for childish things, which, 
in the succeeding periods of life, must be put away. Youth, 
also, is the season for certain things which peculiarly belong to 
that age. It is the spring-time of life; and there is in it a cer- 
tain indescribable hilarity of look, air, and manner, that exactly 
befits it, but which ill suits the season of old age. A boyish old 
man, or a girlish old woman, is as unnatural a phenomenon as the 
flowers of May in the month of December. 

Few things are more difficult than to grow old with a good 
grace ; and, perhaps, the burden of the difficulty lies, with a dis- 
proportioned weight, upon the female part of our race. To the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 183 

vainer and more superficial part it is bitter as death to lose the 
youthful bloom, for which alone they had been admired, and for 
which they had so much admired themselves. And hence there are 
to be found matrons, affecting, in dress and manners, the frivolity 
of girlish years — in spite of obtrusive wrinkles, and silvery locks. 
It is far otherwise with the women, whose minds and hearts 
have been properly cultivated and replenished with intellectual 
and moral treasure, along with the benignant dispositions which 
pure Christianity inspires. The decay of their youthful bloom, 
or personal attractions, is succeeded by self-satisfaction, and the 
high esteem and respect of all around them. 



184 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XLIV. 

OF KEEPING CHILDKEN FEOM THE COMPANY OF CHILDEEN. 

He that formed man, and knew best what was in him, and what 
he was made for, saw that it ivas not good that he should be 
alone. This single sentence confutes the volumes of glowing 
declamation in favor of solitude, or total abstraction from the 
world. To man the social state is the natural state : it brightens 
his intellect, expands his heart, strengthens his weakness, and 
multiplies his enjoyments ; whereas, habitual solitude tends to 
narrowness of heart and sourness of temper. Not that it is good 
to be always in company. That opposite extreme, which so 
many have run into, is quite as bad as the other. The solitary 
being who shuns all company, and the empty nutterer who finds 
no enjoyment out of company, are alike wide of the true mark; 
which is a due mixture of intervals of well-spent solitude with 
the business and duties and enjoyments of social life. 

As zoologists tell us, " It has long been observed that those 
races of animals which live in societies, and unite their efforts 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 185 

for the attainment of one common end, exhibit a great superiority 
of intellectual faculties over those which lead a life of solitude 
and seclusion: and the observation applies equally to the small as 
to the larger animals ; although among the insect tribes the dis- 
tinction is most strongly marked." It has, also, been noticed by 
careful observers, that the gregarious races of animals, in many 
instances, evidently learn of one another, and so become more 
sagacious, and more expert in their operations, by reason of their 
living in a social state. Young singing birds, for example, are 
known to improve in voice and skill, by listening to the notes of 
an old and experienced songster. 

In human beings, the social affection seems to be nearly coeval 
with the first dawn of reason. An infant not unfrequently has been 
seen to leap with joy, in its mother's arms, at the sight of another 
infant ; reaching out its little hands to embrace the stranger. 
Emulation, also, is of the like early growth. Infants that have 
small children constantly about them, if other things be equal, 
learn to walk and to speak earlier than those that are confined 
altogether to the company of full grown people. Equally true is 
it, that both small and large children enjoy themselves a great 
deal better for being much in the company of their equals. 
Moreover, it increases the growth and strength of their minds, 
improves the faculties of their bodies, and furnishes them with a 
sort of information highly necessary to their childish years. 

How much children learn from children is beyond account. 
It is true, in this way they learn some things which they must 
be made to unlearn. But that is not so bad as to deaden their 
faculties and make mopes of them, by debarring them altogether 
from the society of those of their own age. There is a mixture of 



186 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

good and evil, as in all other human affairs, so also in any system 
of education which human wisdom can devise ; that being the 
most eligible one, in which the good most clearly preponderates : 
and upon this principle, to suffer children to enjoy the company 
of children, and at the same time to keep a watchful eye upon 
them, is a much better way than wholly to immure them, as 
some parents have done, either from pride, or through fear of 
contamination. 

No topics have been worn more threadbare than those relating 
to the comforts, and benefits, and blessings of society : topics that 
have been the standing dish from time immemorial ; and that have 
been treated of so often, and in some instances so ably, as almost to 
preclude the possibility of adding a single thought altogether 
new. There is one important particular, however, which seems to 
have been less heeded than the rest ; and that is the salutary 
restraints which well regulated society imposes upon its members : 
I mean not the restraints of law, but merely those of opinion. 

If there be persons who care not at all what any think of them, 
their minds are either far above, or far below the natural feeling 
of humanity. Indeed it is more than doubtful whether any per- 
son of this description exists, unless among the vilest and most 
abandoned of the species. It is human nature to love esteem, 
and abhor reproach; and, for this reason, no law has so general 
influence over civilized man, as the law of Decency ; inasmuch 
as it governs the external conduct, or the manners, even of those 
who have little or no regard for moral principle. A sense of 
shame is one of the most powerful checks upon the atrocious 
vices which society deems scandalous ; so that decency of man- 
ners in society is owing not so much to its laws, as to public sen- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 187 

timeut, or the authority of opinion. How happens it that they 
who emigrate from places where public sentiment is decidedly in 
favor of the virtues and the decencies of life, and settle themselves 
down in a solitary situation, or among neighbors of corrupted 
sentiments — how happens it that often they are so changed — so 
strangely degenerated in their morals and manners ? The reason 
is that they have lost, or thrown off, what had been the main 
check upon their behavior. As they are no longer under the 
stern, scrutinizing eye of virtuous society, they no longer scruple 
to indulge freely the irregular propensities of their minds and 
hearts. 

There are those in private life, who are capable of doing 
nearly, if not quite as much good as can be done by legislators 
and magistrates : they are persons possessed of great or consider- 
able wealth. In our country, there is no one thing that confers 
so much weight of personal influence as riches. The rich, if they 
possess parts withal, have a matchless influence upon the morals 
and manners of society. They are looked up to ; they are 
imitated ; in things pertaining to manners they take the lead, and 
have considerably the direction. Happy were it, if their influence 
were always directed to shame vice, and to make virtue fashion- 
able. 



188 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER XLV. 



OF TEACHING CHILDEEX TO LIE. 



To be branded with the name of Mai- 



ls ignominy fit for slaves alone." 

Sophocles. 



This was the sentiment of an ancient Greek poet of great and 
deserved fame ; — a man who, unenlightened with the rays of 
Christianity, spoke merely from the impulse of nature. 

The ancient Persians, as history informs us, were at great 
pains to teach and habituate their children to speak the truth, and 
thought this a main point in their education. The old Greeks 
and Romans considered lying so infamous as to degrade a free- 
man to a level with their slaves. Even the Turks are reported 
to hold a liar in the utmost contempt. And. indeed, by a sort of 
general consent, in most parts of the world, this vice has been 
reckoned a part of cowardly meanness of nature, and branded 
with infamy. While the laws and sanctions of Christianity most 
solemnly forbid lying, and threaten it with all that is awful, the 
laws even of fashion condemn and reproach it, as the offspring of 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 189 

a pitiful, dastardly spirit. So that a notorious liar is excluded, 
as by general suffrage, not only from the communion of the pious, 
but also from the society of the polite. 

It is not to my purpose, however, to treat here of the vice it- 
self, or of its direful consequences ; but rather to suggest ways and 
means to prevent its going into a habit with young children. 
For of these two things I am confident: first, that few, if any, 
have become notorious for lying, who did not begin to learn it 
while young ; and second, that few children, if any, are deeply 
initiated in this black art, unless through the fault, directly or in- 
directly, of those who have had the immediate care of their per- 
sons and their education. Truth is as easily spoken as false- 
hood : and the habit of speaking the truth, when once fixed, is, 
perhaps, nearly as hard to be broken off as the habit of lying. 
They both grow into habits by degrees, and most commonly ac- 
cording to the management and moulding of early childhood. 

Tell me not that there is in some children, even in some 
little children, such a strong propensity to lying that the habit 
cannot be prevented by any human means. How many thou- 
sand pagans (the old Persians, for instance) took such pains 
with their children in this particular, that among them all a 
single liar was scarcely known. And it is hard to tell why 
Christian parents and instructors might not be equally success- 
ful, if they would only use the same prudence and unweariable 
diligence. 

It is said that the children of the oppressed poor, in jolly and 
generous-hearted Ireland, are remarkably quick and intelligent, 
but almost universally addicted to lying, which they are taught 
even by their own mothers. The boy is sent off, by his mother, 



190 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

to pilfer and bring home fuel from the landlord's turf-rick. If 
the little urchin succeeds and returns well-laden with plunder, 
he is applauded. If he happens to meet with the landlord, or 
any of his domestics, and is asked whither he is going : — provided 
he brings himself off by lying, he is praised for his art and cun- 
ning. But should it bechance him to speak the truth in reply to 
the interrogation, he is sure of a whipping upon his return home; 
or, at best, of a sharp reprimand from his mother, in terms like 
the following: — 

" Ah, ye little brat ! And what made ye tell the gentleman 
when he met ye, ye rogue, that ye were going to the rick. And 
what business had ye to go and belie me to his honor, ye unna- 
tural piece of goods ! I'll teach ye to make mischief through the 
country ! So I will. Have ye got no better sense and manners 
at this time o'clay, than to behave, when one trusts ye abroad, so 
like an innocent ? " 

I would fain believe that, in this free and goodly country of 
ours, there are not very many mothers, or fathers, disposed to 
teach their children to lie, wittingly, directly, and even by their 
positive injunctions ; yet I do fear there are very many who do 
it, either unwittingly, or indirectly, or consequentially. 

Some do it -unwittingly, or without consideration. The child 
(be it supposed) begins to lie ere it can fairly be regarded as a 
moral agent. In such a case, — and such cases are not uncommon 
— it is diverting, particularly to parents, to hear the cunning little 
thing fib. — " And where is the harm ? " — So say, and so think 
some inconsiderate ones. But they wofully err. The harm lies 
here. The fibbing child, though only three or four years old, is 
now beginning to be fashioned to the awful habit of lying ; and 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 191 

though easy to be cured at this age, the cure may. a few years 
hence, be very difficult, if not impossible. 

Others, again, indirectly teach their little children to lie by 
passing deceptions upon them. — Now every deception that is 
passed upon the child, goes to teach the child to deceive. The 
deceptive arts that are played off upon himself, he is quickly pre- 
pared to put in practice upon others. Especially if his parents, 
to whom he looks for example, deceive him with falsehoods for 
whatever purpose, he, also, will not scruple to utter falsehoods 
to gain his ends. 

Finallv, some so keenly mark, and so severely punish even 
the petty faults of children, that they are strongly tempted to a 
denial of the truth, whenever they see the least chance of escape 
by that means : — and thus they begin to form the habit of lying, 
as it were, in their own defence. 

To teach children to despise and detest falsehood and prevar- 
ication, and on no account to be guilty of an untruth, is one of 
the most essential articles in a good education. This is among 
the good seed that should be sown, betimes, in their minds, by 
their parents and instructors ; so as to prevent, if possible, their 
ever uttering a wilful falsehood, or, at least, to cure the evil at its 
first budding : else the force of habit being superadded to the 
vicious propensities of nature, a cure will be doubly difficult, and 
next to hopeless. 

Great care should be taken, not only that children be not led 
into temptation to this pernicious evil, but, also, that they be 
early and constantly guarded against it by all prudent means. 
and be made to form the habit of honestly speaking the truth on 
every occasion. Be not over much prying and severe in regard 



192 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

to the mere frailties common to childhood. Many things you 
must overlook, and forbear to notice, unless you would render 
your government over your children both odious and contempti- 
ble by your perpetual chiding. Never deceive your children by 
word or deed. Never fail to reprove them seriously for any, and 
every act of falsehood, or equivocation, that you find them guilty 
of ; however much your parental vanity may be flattered with 
the dexterity of the little deceivers. Whenever they frankly 
own a fault, whilst you blame them for the fault, forget not to 
commend them for speaking the truth about it. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 193 



NUMBEK XL VI. 

OF HABITUAL DISCONTENT, AKISING FKOM IMAGINAEY WANTS. 

The following short apologue of Sadi } an Asiatic sage, is full of 
valuable instruction : — " I never complained of my wretched, for- 
lorn condition, but on one occasion, when my feet were naked, 
and I had not wherewithal to shoe them. Soon after, meeting a 
man without feet, I was thankful for the bounty of Providence 
to myself, and with perfeet resignation submitted to my want of 
shoes." 

The true secret of living happily, lies in the philosophy of con- 
tentment, which is of more value than the imagined stone of the 
alchymist, that turns every thing to gold. 

It is to be lamented, however, that in this age of boasted light 
and improvement the philosophy of contentment is very little 
studied or regarded. From various corrupted sources we have 
learned not to be content, but dissatisfied with the ordinary con- 
ditions of life. And though neither shoeless, nor destitute of any 
9 



194 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

essential article of raiment or food, we are ready to consume our 
hearts with vexation because we are not seated at the upper end 
of fortune's table. The semblance of happiness is more sought 
after than the reality ; the mere phantom of it, rather than the 
substance. The simple plainness of former days is despised. 
Plain apparel, plain fare, and plain houses and furniture, such 
as our worthy progenitors were quite contented with, and very 
thankful for, our fastidious delicacy regards with scorn, and we 
must needs be fine and fashionable, or pine our lives away in 
grief and shame. Nor would it be either so alarming, or so la- 
mentable, were this the folly of only a few. But the worst of it 
is, it has spread, like an epidemic, over the whole land, and 
throughout almost every class of society. Tens and even 
hundreds of thousands, embracing both sexes alike, are the mis- 
erable victims of a morbid sensibility, and squeamishly dash 
from their lips the cup of ordinary comfort, which is presented to 
them, because it is not filled to the brim, or because it is not 
spiced and sweetened exactly to their taste. 

And where lies the remedy ? It is not within the art of the 
apothecary, or in the power of any nostrums of partial and lim- 
ited effect. No, the people must be wise for themselves. The 
great body of the people, coming once more to their sober senses, 
must agree to return to the plain, frugal, uncostly habits of other 
times ; and must strive, with general accord, to bring those long- 
discarded habits into fashion again, and to render them honorable 
by the suffrage of public opinion. 

As the want of contentment is one of the most grievous wants 
that affect human life, it ought to be provided against with the 
utmost care, and particularly in the following ways. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 195 

1st. In training up children, scarcely anything is of greater 
importance than guarding them against the intrusion of too many 
artificial wants. I say too many, because some wants of this sort 
do naturally and necessarily grow out of civilization, and it is only 
their excess that tends to discontent and wretchedness. Of 
that excess the danger is great, inasmuch as the effects 
are always deplorable. What multitudes, at this very in- 
stant, are discontented and wretched, who might enjoy life 
comfortably, had they been early taught to conform their desires 
to their conditions, and to act upon the principles of sober and 
rational economy. Nor is it of small importance in training up 
children, to accustom them to useful employment. A useless 
life is seldom found to be a contented one. Occupation is so 
necessary to human quiet, that to bring up children in idleness, 
is the way to make them a burden to themselves, as well as to 
the community. 

From this twofold cause, the excess of artificial wants and the 
neglect of forming habits of useful industry in the early period 
of life, has sprung, perhaps, full half of the discontent that secretly 
preys upon so many bosoms. In short, important as it is to 
teach children reading and writing and the use of figures, it is of 
still greater importance to regulate their tempers, to curb their 
wayward desires, and to fix them in habits of industry, temper- 
ance, and frugality, without which the acquisition of learning 
could be but of little benefit to them. 

2d. The self-discipline of adult age is an essential requisite 
towards leading and enjoying a contented life. A well disciplined 
mind studies to be content, and most commonly is so. It attains 
its desires by moderating and limiting them, and thus bringing 



196 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

them within the compass of its means. It accustoms itself to view 
without envy the wealth and grandeur which fall not to its lot, 
and which seldom render their possessors more happy ; and to 
be satisfied with, and thankful for, the mere necessary and com- 
mon accommodations of the journey of life. In short, it depends 
much less upon our circumstances, whether we shall be happy or 
miserable in life, than on our tempers, and our view of things. 
Many enjoy themselves well in narrow circumstances, because they 
bring their minds to their situations. But when to narrow cir- 
cumstances are added, large desires and magnificent notions, it 
is then, and only then, that unhappiness results from the want of 
a fortune. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 197 



NUMBER XLVIL 

OF SEVERAL OF THE PREDISPOSING CAUSES OF UNHAPPY MARRIAGES. 

It is a common saying in the world, that there are but few happy 
marriages ; and doubly deplorable would be the condition of 
mankind were it wholly true. It is true, however, only in a 
qualified or limited sense. 

What ! is marriage, in itself considered, a source of wretched- 
ness rather than of weal ? Do they who marry, change their con- 
dition generally for the worse ? Are the married, for the most 
part, less happy than the unmarried ? So it is not ; nor will any 
assert it but the profane and licentious, or the inconsiderate. 
Yet, after all, but few marriages are exceeding happy. And 
why ? It is not for lack of excellence in the institution, nor be- 
cause the connubial state is not, in itself, conducive to human 
comfort and weal. Elsewhere lie the reasons ; of which some 
will be included in the following particulars. 

1st. It often happens that too much is expected beforehand. 
In none of the conditions or relations of -this life is unalloyed 



198 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

happiness the lot of man ; and, by consequence, those who in- 
dulge the unreasonable expectation of finding it in marriage, must 
inevitably drink of the bitter cup of disappointment. 

2d. Since the fall, the intercourse of married life has never 
been (such as it primitively was) between persons of perfect in- 
nocence and virtue ; but it is in all cases between those who are 
frail, infirm of mind, and more or less defective in heart. Now 
it is for want of duly considering this matter before their mar- 
riage, that a great many couples are unreasonably vexed at the 
infirmities, failings, and petty faults, which they perceive in each 
other afterwards ; charging upon wedlock the disappointment 
that originated in the illusions of their own fancies. 

3d. As in other contracts, so in that of marriage the parties 
too often deal unfairly with one another, by artfully concealing 
their personal defects and affecting qualities of which they are 
devoid. 

That ornament of human nature, as well as of the society of 
Friends, to which he belonged, namely, Dr. Fothergill, of London 
— a man alike distinguished for parts and learning, for benevo- 
lence and piety — being informed that a gentleman, at a house 
where he visited, was paying his addresses to a young lady, de- 
sired leave to offer him a piece of advice. The gentleman making 
a bow of submission — u Friend," said the shrewd physician, " my 
advice is this — that thou shouldst court in thy every -day clothes." 

What a deal of matrimonial disappointment and strife might 
be prevented if, while the treaty was going on, both the wooers 
and the wooed would appear in their every-day clothes ; — or in no 
better character for temper and disposition, or for any attractive 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 199 

and estimable quality, than such as they were determined to main- 
tain, after marriage, constantly, throughout the whole of their lives. 

4th. The little obliging attentions which are the food of 
friendship, and without which close and ardent friendship can 
hardly be kept alive for any long while, are too often remitted 
after marriage, and even discontinued. And hence, without any 
flagrant fault on either side, coolness arises, then indifference, 
and finally alienation. 

5th. Among the higher classes, marriage, in too many instan- 
ces, is the old, calculating chaffery of avarice and ambition for 
money or for rank. And as neither love nor friendship has any 
concern in the contract, it is no wonder that neither love nor 
friendship should ever after spring up and bless the union. 

6th. Amongst the lower classes many rush into marriage im- 
providently, or without being furnished with any competent means 
of supporting a family. Poverty and want follow of course. 
Their own suffering is aggravated by the sufferings of their little 
ones ; and they look back, with deep regret, to the comparative 
comforts of their single life. 

Lastly, there are those of the baser sort, who, by reason of 
the perverseness of their tempers, or the pravity of their hearts, 
and the viciousness of their lives, would needs be wretched in 
any condition. As husbands and wives, they mutually are 
fiendlike tormentors, if equally matched ; or if they are yoked 
together unequally, the connection proves the sorest of calamities 
to the better party. 

And yet, after making all these deductions, it is unquestion- 
ably true that more than a full moiety of the social comfort en- 
joyed in this world, is the fruit of marriage. In it the extreme 



200 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

cases either way are comparatively few. Of married men and 
women, the most, by far, are made neither very happy, nor very 
wretched by this connection. Between these two extremes there 
is an intermediate class, immense in number, who, though they 
constantly experience a mixture of good and evil in the married 
state, will perceive, nevertheless, upon a fair estimate, that the 
good considerably preponderates. 

One observation more and I shall conclude. The surest basis 
of connubial happiness is genuine piety. ' u Wisdom," as observes 
a venerable sage in the Apocrypha, " is a loving spirit." The 
wisdom that is from above is peaceable, gentle, and easy to be 
entreated. The humility, the meekness, the benevolence, the 
gentleness of real Christianity, and indeed the whole body of the 
Christian virtues, when heart-felt and acted out in sincerity, do 
directly and powerfully tend to sweeten the trials and multiply 
the comforts of those who are partners together in marriage, while 
the hope of meeting in a better world ■ ■ strews their path to the 
grave with flowers." 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 201 



NUMBEB XL VIII. 

OF FAVOEITISM IN THE DEALING OF PABEXTS WITH THEIE CHILDBEX. 

As parents naturally love their children, so they naturally wish to 
be loved by them ; and yet, very often, this darling wish of their 
hearts is defeated by their own imprudence. Upon this point it 
would be easy to enumerate facts or instances ; but I shall men- 
tion only one — and that is, the partial favor and disfavor of 
parents towards their offspring. Parental favoritism springs, 
sometimes, from motives that are seemingly reasonable, as some 
children are possessed of dispositions much more attractive than 
those of others. But even where this difference is clearly seen, 
it concerns the parents to take heed that the bias of their hearts 
becomes not too visible in their conduct. It is no wonder that 
the venerable patriarch felt a superior degree of affection for the 
son, who, in regard to every thing morally excellent and lovely, 
was so manifestly above his brethren : nevertheless, the manifes- 
tation of the partiality, so reasonable in itself — the coat of many 
colors, for instance — led to consequences of the most tragical na- 
ture. 

9* 



202 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

Happy would it be, however, if there were no parental bias 
but such as is founded on merit, as in the instance just men- 
tioned : whereas it sometimes springs from causes that can afford it 
not the least shadow of excuse. — Of these I will name only two. 
1st. Personal beauty, and especially female beauty, is fre- 
quently the ground of parental partiality. Notwithstanding that 
the mere possession of beauty neither implies merit nor gives 
promise of any real exellence, yet it often happens that the most 
beautiful of the daughters is, for that single reason, the most 
caressed by the ill-judging parents, who, on the same wretched 
principle, are the most negligent of the one that has the least 
personal comeliness. The unfeeling cruelty of this species of 
domestic favoritism is too obvious to need remark : its results 
are unhappy every way. Even the favorite herself is a great 
loser, for in proportion as her vanity is fostered, and by such 
hands, every estimable quality, that might grow up in her mind 
under proper culture, is stifled. On the other hand, the smothered 
discontents and heart-burnings of the children who lie under 
unmerited neglect, and their feelings of envy toward the favorite, 
are the seeds which often burst up finally into violent and inter- 
minable contentions. 

Parental discretion acts a part quite different from that which 
has now been described. It warns and admonishes her to whom 
nature has been lavish in personal attractions, and teaches her 
betimes not to value herself upon them; while it encourages those 
of the family that possess the least of personal comeliness, by im- 
printing it upon them that the due cultivation of their intellectual 
and moral faculties will make them respectable and respected. 

2d. There is another species of favoritism practised by 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 203 

parents, which, if not so common, is yet more reprehensible : it is 
treating the prosperous child with fond attention, and the un- 
prosperous one with cold neglect. Worldly prosperity is no 
evidence of merit, nor adversity of demerit. It often happens 
that of the members of the same family, having in their outset in 
life the like prospects — it often happens that some come to wealth, 
whilst others are cast into the shades of poverty, through mis- 
fortune rather than from any faultiness in their own conduct. 
In cases of this sort, the partiality of parents, if it be allowable 
at all, should lean to the unfortunate child : at least, they are bound 
by the ties of nature and duty to show quite as much attention 
to the unfortunate, as to the fortunate part of their offspring. 
And it would be a libel upon parents to say, that, in general, the 
tide of their affection flows or ebbs according as their children 
make out well or ill in the world. The thing is not common, nor 
yet is it very rare. There are few persons of considerable age 
and observation, who have not witnessed it in more than one in- 
stance. And whenever and wherever this happens, it excites 
emotions of disgust and abhorrence. When the unfortunate 
son is treated with coldness, because he has been unfortunate, 
and is poor ; when the unfortunate daughter, along with her needy 
little ones, is neglected and in a manner forsaken — not by the 
world only, but by father and mother — when persons bearing 
the sacred name of parents, are kind only to those of their 
children who need not their kindness, and forsake those who 
need it most — when such a horrible thing is seen in the land, it 
is seen to be detested. 



204 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEE XLIX. 

OF THE INESTIMABLE BENEFITS OF LAW. 

Of all human institutions, that of Laiv is of primary importance. 
The benefit of government consists not so much in its being a 
guard against external, as against internal violence. For it is 
not certain that a people living without government would be 
invaded from abroad ; but it is quite certain that they would in- 
vade, pillage, and murder one another at home. In e^ery age, 
and in every country, man, unfettered by law, has been a tiger 
to man. Not that, at all times and in all countries, there have 
not been some persons, inclined of their own free will to do 
aright, but their number and strength have never been sufficient 
to stem the torrent of violence without aids from the arm of civil 
government. So far from it, where anarchy has prevailed, the 
more virtuous have ever been its marked victims. 

If we trace back the stream of time as far towards the source 
as there are any lights furnished us from history, we shall find 
that no tyranny has been so horrible as that of anarchy. In the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 205 

antediluvian ages, in which no regular government of general 
extent was, perhaps, known, " the earth was filled with violence." 
Those giants, those men of renown, so termed by the sacred 
penman, were, there is reason to think, daring and mighty rob- 
bers, who, at the head of their companies of bandits, traversed the 
countries, committing pillages, murders, and violence wherever 
they went. 

In the patriarchal ages there were men of exalted piety, who 
ruled well their own children and domestics. But even then, 
well-regulated civil government was scarcely known any where : 
else the most venerable patriarch could hardly have been so dis- 
tressed with fear for the honor of his wife, and lest he should, 
himself, be murdered on her account, when they were journeying 
together to Egypt, which at that time was the most renowned 
for arts and sciences of any country in the world. There were 
periods of the like anarchy and its horrible concomitants in the 
history of the tribes of Israel ; when li every man did that which 
was right in his own eyes ; " when " the highways were unoccu- 
pied, and the travellers walked through by-ways," for fear of the 
swarms of robbers and murderers that infested the country. 

In the Heroic Ages of ancient Greece, there was very little of 
government or law ; mere brutal strength, united with ferocious 
courage, being the only passport to eminence. Theseus and 
Hercules were renowned and deified for their valorous exploits 
against robbers. Not that they themselves were scrupulous 
of committing robbery and murder every now and then ; but 
they were renowned and deified, because they had been the 
means of extirpating a race of banditti, more execrable than 
themselves. 



206 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

The age of chivalry, in modern Europe, bore a considerable 
resemblance to the heroic ages of Greece, Chivalry, or knight- 
errantry, had its origin in the deplorable condition in which 
the countries of Europe were placed. The knights-errant, or 
roving knights, were professedly the protectors of the weaker 
part of the community, and particularly of the fair sex, whose 
champions they pretended to be, and whose ravishers they very 
often were. The licentiousness of manners, during the anarchical 
age of chivalry, was, if we may credit the fragments of its histo- 
ry, both general, and shockingly enormous. 

Even so far forward as the ninth century, there was no public 
maritime law in Europe ; and in consequence of this lawless con- 
dition of the seas, piracy was not only tolerated, but held in 
honor. The petty sovereigns of the nations upon the Baltic, pro- 
vided each of their sons with a ship or ships, and enjoined it upon 
them to make their fortunes by piracy and plunder. 

There is an instance comparatively recent, and yet bearing 
an affinity to those that have been adduced above. Scotland, it 
is well known, is at present, and long has been, one of the most 
moral countries in the world : yet, only three centuries ago, for 
want of a stable government, it was a land of robbers and ruffians. 

Camden, in his Britannia, speaking of the robberies committed 
by the Scotch Borderers, in the sixteenth century, says : " They 
sally out of their own borders, in the night, in troops, through 
unfrequented by-ways, and many intricate windings. — All the 
day-time, refresh themselves and their horses in lurking-holes 
they had pitched upon before, till they arrive, in the dark, at 
those places they have a design upon. As soon as they have 
seized upon the booty, they, in like manner, return home in the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 207 

night, through blind ways, and fetching many a compass. The 
more skilful any captain is to pass through those wild deserts, 
crooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the thickest mists and 
darkness, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked upon as 
a man of an excellent head. And they are so very cunning, that 
they seldom have their booty taken from them, unless sometimes, 
when, by the help of bloodhounds, following them exactly upon 
their tracks, they may chance to fall into the hands of their ad- 
versaries. When, being taken, they have so much persuasive 
eloquence, and so many smooth and insinuating words at com- 
mand, that if they do not move their judges, nay, even their ad- 
versaries (notwithstanding the severity of their natures), to have 
mercy, yet, they incite them to admiration and compassion." 

Two important particulars clearly follow from these historical 
sketches. The one is, that since we live in an age of regulated 
government and superior civilization, in which life, character and 
property are well secured by law, we cannot too highly prize 
those blessings : and the other, that it behooves all persons, pos- 
sessing any regard for religion, or morals, or even for their own 
personal interests, to use their best endeavors to preserve social 
order, and to set their faces steadfastly against all wanton violations 
of good and wholesome laws. Neither is it an unimportant part 
of Christian education, to teach and habituate children to prize 
and venerate the wholesome institutions of government and law. 

In a free republican government, such as ours, the laws are 
not only $ or hut from the people, and it is indispensably requi- 
site that its youth should have a general knowledge of its con- 
stitution, and of the most interesting parts of its code of civil and 
criminal law ; since without it they will 4>e poorly qualified to act 



208 THE BRIEF REMARKED 

their parts properly as freemen, either in a public or even in a 
private capacity. Not to mention that some hapless youth, now 
in vile confinement, might have been deterred from the trans- 
gressions which brought them thither, had they been seasonably 
and fully aware of the penalties that would be incurred by such 
transgressions. 

The Prussian Frederick the Great is said to have remarked, 
that the laws of a whole realm might be comprised in a pocket 
volume. And so it might be in an absolute despotism ; but in a 
free, and rich commercial country, the laws must needs be 
voluminous, and the professors of law numerous, This body o£ 
men, whatever be their aberrations in any other respects, have 
ever been found the strenuous advocates and powerful defenders 
of civil liberty. The reason is obvious, and a cogent one : it is 
only in a free country that the lawyers can obtain wealth and 
consequence ; for where the judges are the creatures of a despot, 
it is not the pleading of the advocate that avails, but the bribe of 
the client. 

Before I end, it is proper to mention the absolute necessity 
of an impartial and a vigilant administration of the laws, with- 
out which they are useless, and sometimes worse than useless. 
And here, instead of argument, I will merely transcribe a whole- 
some anecdote from Malcom's History of Persia. 

From the year 1757 until the period of his death in 1778, 
Carim Khan reigned, with great reputation, over the whole of 
Persia, with the exception of two provinces. Carim one day was 
on the point of retiring from his judgment seat, harassed and 
fatigued with a long attendance, when a man rushed forward in 
apparent distraction, caRing out in a loud voice for justice. — 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 209 

" Who are you?" said Carim. "lama merchant," replied the 
man, " and have been robbed and plundered, by thieves, of all I 
possess." — " What were you about," said the prince, "when you 
were robbed ? — " I was asleep," answered the man. — u And why 
did you sleep ? " exclaimed Carim, in a peevish and impatient 
tone. — "Because," said the undaunted Persian, tl I made a mis- 
take, and thought you were awake" 



210 THE BEIEF REMARKEK 



NUMBEE L. 

OF A DISPUTATIOUS TEMPEK AND HABIT. 

It is a saying often quoted as Dr. Franklin's, that " by the col- 
lision of different sentiments, sparks of truth are struck out, 
and light is obtained." But it seems to have been current, 
though in another manner of phrase, before it came from the pen 
of the justly celebrated Doctor. In an Almanac, dated one 
hundred and fourteen years back, I have met with the following 
homely but pithy verse : 

" But quill to quill, like flints on steel do smite, 
Which kindle sparks, and those sparks give us light." 

On the other hand, a writer possessed of masterly powers of 
reasoniDg, who flourished in the beginning of the last century, ap- 
pears to have thought that disputing, whether by means of the 
quill or otherwise, is apt to produce a great deal less of light than 
of heat and smoke. 

Mr. Locke, in his Treatise on Education, observes, il If the 
use and end of right reasoning be to have right notions and a 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 211 

right judgment of things ; to distinguish betwixt truth and false- 
hood, right and wrong, and to act accordingly, be careful not to 
let jour son be bred up in the art and formality of disputing." — 
And, as a reason for that conclusion, he goes on to describe the 
wretched manner in which disputes were generallj managed : — 
" Whether pertinent or impertinent, sense or nonsense, agreeing 
with or contrarj thereto, what he had said before it matters not : 
for this, in short, is the w T aj and perfection of logical disputes, 
that the opponent never takes anj answer, nor the respondent 
ever jields to anj argument. This, neither of them must do. 
whatever becomes of truth or knowledge, unless he would pass for 
a poor, baffled wretch, and lie under the disgrace of not being able 
to maintain whatever he has once affirmed, which is the great aim 
and glorj of disputing." 

Here we find a "collision of different sentiments " on the very 
question whether disputing tends to advance correct knowledge 
or to retard it. 

Now, to do justice to both sides, it must, I think, be granted 
that each is in the right, provided allowance be made for the op- 
posite views in which the subject presents itself. Were disputing 
conducted as it ought to be, with sincere and paramount love of 
truth, and a benignity of temper, there might spring from it much 
good, without any considerable mixture of evil. But conducted 
as it most commonly has been, with acrimonious feeling, and the 
fierceness and obstinacy of pugilists, rather than with the honest 
candor that is willing in all cases to yield to evidence, it too 
often serves but to exasperate and mislead ; so that nothing is less 
desirable in youth, or less to be encouraged, than a disputatious 
or cavilling temper. 



212 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

In certain memoirs of the life of Frederick the Great, it is 
related that, aspiring after the fame of a philosophical reasoner, he 
was much inclined to exercise his talents, now and then, in dis- 
puting with the learned men of his court. Accordingly, he used, 
at his leisure, to send for the philosophers whom he kept in wait- 
ing, to reason with them ; professing, the meanwhile, that he laid 
by the monarch, and put himself on an equal footing with them, 
and encouraging them to be free and do their best. But if an} r 
one of them happened to invalidate his arguments, or to get the 
better of him in any way, he instantly flew into a violent passion, 
and bestowed upon the offender the most scurrilous epithets. 
The memoirs further relate, that at one of his literary entertain- 
ments, when, in order to promote free conversation, he reminded 
the circle that there was no monarch present, the conversation 
chanced to turn upon the faults of different governments and rulers. 
General censures were passing from mouth to mouth, with a kind 
of freedom which such hints were calculated, and apparently in- 
tended, to inspire. But Frederick presently put a stop to the topic, 
exclaiming, "Hold your peace, gentlemen, be upon your guard, else 
the king ivill be among you" This instance, while it speaks the 
imperious, insolent despot, is characteristical of our general na- 
ture. Of disputants, in all ages of the world, there have been 
but few that were scrupulous of using all the means in their 
power to baffle, bear down, and silence their opponents ; but few, 
whose unfairness of manner and bitterness of temper have not 
furnished clear proof that they were more actuated by the proud 
desire of victory, than by a sincere regard to truth ; very few, 
who have shown themselves willing, in all cases, to give truth 
fair play. Contrariwise, men, that are naturally, or by custom, 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 213 

of a disputatious temper, seldom are so for truth's sake. Gene- 
rally, something else than the love of truth has the strongest hold 
of their hearts. 

Perilous, in this respect, is the moral condition of that class 
of men, whose professional business of disputing, and whose fame 
and renown, depend upon success in gaining their causes, just or 
unjust. 

" An indiscriminate defence of right and wrongs contracts 
the understanding, while it corrupts the heart" This short 
sentence of the celebrated Junius, is deserving of the serious at- 
tention of young men of ingenuous dispositions, who have recently 
entered, or are about entering, upon the profession of the law. 
One, accustomed to argue indiscriminately for and against truth 
and right, and whose main road to distinction lies in his talent 
" to make the worse appear the better reason," needs, of all men, 
to keep a careful watch over his moral frame. 

Theological disputes are of a nature, that would seem to se- 
cure them from the aberrations incidental to those of worldly 
men. The theologian stands upon hallowed ground. Truth, 
Divine Truth, is his pole-star. The inspired volume is his 
directory ; of which he must not wittingly misconstrue any part 
for the sake of gaining his argument, or even though he. might 
gain by it the 'whole world. His case is similar to that of the 
Persian judges, who were made to interpret the law3 of the realm 
with ropes about their necks, as indicative of the punishment that 
awaited them if found guilty of any wilful misinterpretation. 
And besides, as truth must be his sole aim, so his manner of 
defending it must be consonant to the spirit of Him, who was 
" meek and lowly in heart " — who, " when he was reviled, re- 



214 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

viled not again." Wherefore, in that sacred department, if any 
where, it might be expected that disputes would be conducted 
with the utmost fairness, and with exemplary benignity of tem- 
per. Would it were always so ! 

" The man who, in controversy, pays a strict regard to truth 
and candor, gives clear evidence of the excellence of his under- 
standing and the uprightness of his heart ; whereas, sophistry 
and quibble, rancorous invective and scurrilous abuse, warrant a 
suspicion of the advocate, however righteous be his cause." 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 215 



NUMBEE LI. 

OF OVEEDOING IX GOYEENING CHTLDEEX. 

As nothing more clearly evidences the weakness of a legislature 
than a strong propensity to multiply laws beyond what real and 
absolute need requires, so also is it in regard to domestic govern- 
ment. In families, as well as in larger communities, there often 
is too much Law. A few rules are necessary for the govern- 
ment of children, and but a few. These should be too plain to 
be misunderstood; too reasonable to admit of any dispute or 
doubt; and too important to be violated or neglected. They 
should be engraven early upon the memories of the children, and 
enforced, when need requires, with steady and inflexible firm- 
ness ; — and, by and by, they will grow into habits. Submission 
and obedience will become natural and spontaneous. 

Children managed in this manner from infancy, and by parents, 
too, whose examples comport with their rules and injunctions, 
and whose exercise of authority carries along with it evident 



216 THE BKIEF REMARKER 

marks of tender affection ; — children reared up under this steady, 
mild, and yet firm discipline, soon become tractable, except in 
extraordinary instances of perverseness. They feel the yoke to 
be easy, and are withheld from acts of disobedience, more out of 
filial love and respect, than from the dread of chastisement. 
Hence it is, that in some houses, family government goes on with 
singular regularity, though so silent as to be scarcely perceived. 
There is no violent scolding ; no boisterous threats ; no fierce 
looks. Both the father and the mother are so mild and even in 
temper and behavior, that they seem scarcely to display any 
authority at all; and yet, their children are orderly, submissive, 
and dutiful, in a very uncommon degree. A single word, or a 
mere glance of the eye, from either parent, they mind more than 
the children of some families do the pelting of hard blows. 

Neither is it the only advantage of this method of family 
government, that it accomplishes its object the most effectually, 
and with the least trouble ; — there is another of equal, if not of 
greater moment. Children thus managed are led to delight in 
the company and conversation of their parents, and to receive 
counsel readily from their lips : and when they come of age to act 
for themselves, the transition from the state of subjection to that 
of personal independence is easy and scarcely perceivable. They 
don't feel like emancipated slaves. They are not intoxicated 
with liberty, but enjoy it soberly; still looking back, with 
mixed emotions of respect and love, to the salutary discipline they 
had been under, and still accustoming themselves to consult their 
parents, and to receive their advice with deference. 

Nothing, indeed, is more clear, than that the simplest govern- 
ment is the best for children ; and yet this plain matter of fact is 



<»:•; THE WATS OF MA] . 'Hi 

often overlooked, and that too. by some of excellent minds and 
hearts. Many parents of good sense and great moral worth, fear- 
ful of failing in their duty by not governing enough, run ii 
opposite extreme. They maintain a reservedness, a distanc 
stateliness toward their children, who hardly dare to .-peak in 
their presence, and much less to manifest befoi :ui any 

iptoms of the gayety of their youthful hearts. They encum- 
ber them with a multitude of regulations : the}' tire them with 
long lessons of stern monition; they disgust and alienate th m 
with a superabundance of sharp reproof: they tre ir little 

levities as if they were heinous crimes. Instead of drawing them 
with " the cords of love.'' they bind them fast with cords that are 
galling and painful. 

This mistaken, though well-intentioned manner of family 
government 3 is very apt to draw after it several unhappy con se- 
quences. Children so brought up, how much soever they fear 
their parents, do rarely love them very much. However much 
they respect their virtues, they seldom yield them the warm 
affection of their hearts. Of some, it breaks the spirits, and 
iders them unenterprising, tame and servile, in all the suc- 
ceeding periods of their lives. Others, who have more native 
energy of mind and stiffness of heart, it makes exceedingly rest- 
: and whenever these can get aside from parental inspection. 
they are particularly rude and extravagant in their conduct. 
With longing eyes, they look forward to the day of emanciption 
from parental authority, as to a jubilee ; and when the wished for 
time has come, they are like calves let loose from their stalls. 
The transition is so great and so sudden, that it wilders them; 



10 



218 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

and it often happens that their ruin is involved in the first use 
they make of their freedom. 

They are wide of the true mark in family government, who 
make a mighty bustle about it. In their laudable attempts to 
excel in that way, they spoil all by overdoing. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 219 



NUMBER LII. 



OF PKOCKASTINATION. 



The nation from which we derive our language, has been distin. 
guished, perhaps above all others, for steady, persevering indus- 
try ; and several English old sayings, or proverbs, correspond 
with this prominent feature of national character. One of these 
ancient sayings of English origin, is, " Never put off till to-mor- 
row what may be done to-day." On the contrary, sluggishness 
and procrastination are national attributes of the Spaniards, who, 
though acting with great spirit and vigor whenever roused to 
action, continue slothful and dilatory at all other times. Nor is 
it a little remarkable, that there is a Spanish proverb directly 
of opposite meaning to the English one, just now mentioned. 
Laborde, in his View of Spain, affirms it to be a Spanish proverbial 
maxim, u That one should never do to-day what may be put off 
till to-morrrow." 

Whether it be owing to nature, or to education and habit, 
or from whatever cause else it may spring, there is, in this goodly 



220 THE BRIEF EEMARKEE 

country, a prevailing disposition to follow the last of these two 
opposite maxims ; though we are all ready to admit the reason- 
ableness of its contrast. No infatuation is more deplorable, nor 
yet more general, the whole Christianized world over, than the 
vain hope that leads us to put off, from day to day, the great- 
work which must be done, or ourselves be for ever undone. But 
I am now to speak not of the common and most deplorable in- 
fatuation which relates to the concerns of immortality, but of that 
which concerns our temporal interests. — Of the fatal error of the 
former, the Holy Volume and the Pulpit give solemn warning ; 
— of some of the mischiefs of the latter, it is mine to treat in this 
short essay. 

Few things are more ruinous, even to our secular affairs, than 
customary procrastination. It confuses and blights every kind 
of worldly business ; for business not attended to in the proper 
time and season, is either not done at all, or done with more 
labor and difficulty, and to less purpose. 

Some men are in the practice of letting their accounts lie 
unsettled for several years together. It is no matter, forsooth ; 
they are near neighbors and close friends, and can come to a 
reckoning at any time. At length, a settlement between them 
commences. The accounts of each, however honest, are swelled 
beyond the expectation of the other. On both sides, several 
items have vanished from the remembrance of him who is charged 
with them. A warm dispute ensues; perhaps an arbitration; 
peradventure an expensive lawsuit ; and these close friends are 
severed for ever. 

Some men neglect to make their Wills, though they know 
their estates would be inherited contrary to their own minds and 



THE W 221 

to the rule of equity, if they should chance to die intestate. 
Knowing this, and sincerely wishing that right may be done to 
their heirs, they are fully determined to perform the necessary 
act and deed, some time or other. CL But why just now? An- 
other time will do as well." And thus they delay the thing 
from year to year, till, at the last, the time of doing it is gone 
by ; a precious widow, or a beloved and deserving child, is left to 
suffer, through life, the bitter consequences of this default. 

Some farmers double their labor, and lose half their profits, 
for want of doing things in the proper season. Their fields 
are overgrown with bushes and thorns, all which a little sea- 
sonable labor might have prevented. Their fences, and even 
their buildings, are neglected, till the cost of repairs becomes in- 
creased several fold ; besides their sustaining a train of incon- 
veniences, and of serious injuries from the neglect. — And so, also, 
their crops cost more labor, and at the same time are leaner in 
bulk, or inferior in quality, by reason that much of the labor that 
had been bestowed upon them, was out of season. Nor is it un- 
common to see farmers of this sort in a mighty hurry and bustle. 
They are behind their business, and running to overtake it, 
which is the cause of their being so often in a greater hurry than 
their neighbors. 

Many a one loses his custom, as a mechanic, by not doing his 
work in season. It makes no odds, he thinks, whether the thing 
be done precisely at the time agreed upon — but so think not his 
-ustomers. 

"What does not a merchant lose in custom, in credit, and in 
cash, by neglecting his books, though it be only for a few months 
or for a few weeks ? How hard does he find it to set to rights 



222 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

what might easily have been kept right, if he had done the work 
of each day within the day. 

Honest Jonathan borrows a sum of money of his particular 
friend, on the express promise of scrupulous punctuality in re- 
paying it. He gets the money by the day of payment, but being 
busy here and there, he delays to carry or send it. The money 
happens to be sorely wanted the very day it becomes due ; — and, 
with that particular friend, Jonathan's borrowing credit is utterly 
lost. 

His Reverence, — a clergyman of no mean abilities, appears 
below himself in the pulpit, merely from his having got into the 
practice of delaying preparations for the Sabbath to the very last 
of the week, when, not unfrequently, company unexpectedly 
falls in, or he unexpectedly is called out : so that a considerable 
proportion of his sermons, composed in the hurry of his spirits, 
bear no great analogy to the " beaten oiV of the sanctuary. A 
reversal of merely timing his preparations, would contribute as 
well to the comfort of the respectable gentleman himself, as to 
the edification of his hearers. 

Doctor possesses undoubted skill in his profession, but 

loves talk better than practice. Called away in a case of press- 
ing emergency, he sets out with speed ; but meets an old acquaint- 
ance, to whom he opens a budget of news and politics, which 
takes up half an hour in the relation ; and by the time he arrives, 
all is over. Half an hour sooner, and his patient might have 
been saved. 

Violent pains and feverish chills seize us. If they go not off, 
we will send for a physician to-morrow. Ere to-morrow arrives 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 223 

the distemper gains a firmness of fixture that baifles the physi- 
cian's skill. 

One instance more 3 and a common one. — : ' Xot ready" says 
the sharp-eyed lawyer, when the court is in waiting, and the 
patience of the witnesses is tired with long attendance. — And why 
not ready ? Procrastination lies at the bottom. Here, however, 
procrastination itself turns to good account. The case is laid 

over, and the fees are augmented. — it is only the pigeons that are 
plucked. 



224 THE BRIEF KEMARKEH 



NUMBER LIE. 



OF THE WELL -IN FOE MED. 



What lias been commonly termed the Republic of Letters, 
till a late period had been no other than a monopolizing and an 
overbearing aristocracy. The precious treasure was in the pos- 
session of only a few, who, with miserly feeling, locked it up from 
the mass of the people ; communicating ..of it merely to one 
another, and to their select pupils. 

" Knowledge that is hid, and treasure that is locked up, what 
profit is in them both ? " This question of the ancient sage, 
that penned the book of Ecclesiasticus, carries its own answer 
along with it. 

Of very little profit indeed to the world, were those philoso- 
phers of antiquity, whose philosophy was either wrapped up in 
mystery, or withheld from all but the initiated few. For as gold 
is of no service while it remains hoarded, and is made serviceable 
only when put in circulation, so also intellectual treasure can 
benefit mankind only in so far as it is generally diffused. 



OS 1'HE WAYS 01' MAN. 

The Art of Printing produced an astonishing change in this 
important respect ; a change that is still progressing, and that 
promises a most happy consummation. Ere its discovery, the 
whole rational world consisted of only two classes ; namely, 
learned scholars and an illiterate vulgar ; between which there 
was very little of fellowship, or of any thing in common. Whereas 
printing, by multiplying copies with so much ease, and furnish- 
ing books in such plenty and cheapness, soon began to break 
away that "middle wall of partition." Yet it was not till a 
considerably late period, that the tree of knowledge was brought 
fairly within the reach of the multitude. 

From the beginning of the last century, and thence up to the 
present day, literature and science have advanced chiefly by 
diffusion. In the former ages, there were giants in the literary 
departments : men of iron constitutions of body and mind, who. 
by indefatigable industry and patience of toil, treasured up in 
their minds and memories such a prodigious abundance of learn- 
ing as would now seem incredible. This race of Anakim is well 
nigh extinct, and of learning there are no living prodigies com- 
parable to those of earlier time. Nevertheless, knowledge has 
rapidly progressed by the general spread of it. It being no 
longer confined to scholars by profession, or inherited exclusively 
by the lordly sex, there now are of both sexes very many readers, 
who without any pretensions to deep scholarship, have arrived to 
respectable degrees of information. The truth of it is, among 
those especially who speak the English tongue, there has risen up 
a middle class, aptly denominated the Well-informed. 

And who are These? These are persons who, though not to 
be ranked with men of deep scholastic lore, nor by any means 
10* 



226 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

affecting such distinction, are, notwithstanding, possessed of a 
fund of useful knowledge, whether for conversation, or for the 
various practical purposes of life. They are often found, in 
short, to have a great deal more of general practical knowledge 
than commonly falls to the lot of men of profound science or 
literature. For one who devotes himself to science alone, or to 
literature alone, however deeply intelligent in that single respect, 
must needs be ignorant as to most other things. 

But the class of the Well-Informed requires a more particular 
description. By no means does it include all readers, and much 
less all that can read. 

Of those who can read, the greater part make very little use 
of this inestimable advantage, and are very little the wiser for it. 
Again, of those who do read, a large proportion choose rather to 
be diverted or amused than instructed. They are diverted ; 
they are amused ; but enlightened or informed in any respectable 
measure they are not. There are great readers both male and 
female, who in no wise are well informed. Either their reading 
is chaffy and uninstructive, or they neglect to join with it the 
close exercise of their intellectual faculties ; so that their judg- 
ments are not strengthened, nor their understandings enlarged, 
though an abundance of truths and facts are confusedly heaped 
together in their memories. 

To attain the character of well-informed, one must read 
with prudent selection as to books ; with an attentive exercise of 
one's own reason and judgment ; with close application of 
thought ; — and one must improve one's own mind, not by reading 
only, but also by a living intercourse with intelligent society. 
For it is not in abstraction from the world, but in the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 227 

bosom of society — of well-regulated and well-informed society — 
that the mind enjoys the best opportunities for obtaining expansion 
and vigor. Here alone, it experiences a genial warmth, and 
powerful stimulations to laudable exertions. Here alone is it, also, 
that the fallacies and errors of its own crude conceptions are 
corrected by means of their frequent contact, comparison, and 
collision, with the conceptions of kindred minds. 

The road is open. The means of information are so ample 
and so easy of access, that the reading youths of the present day 
seem to have it fairly in their power to become well-informed 
men and women. Two hours in the twenty-four, employed in 
well-directed intellectual industry, might suffice, in no very long 
course of years, for gathering a respectable treasure of valuable 
knowledge. A person who should walk only one hour, or three 
miles and a half, every day, would in the course of twenty years 
have travelled as many steps as would reach round the globe. 



228 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER LIV. 

OF THE VAIXXESS OF TETIKG TO PLEASE EVERY BODY. 

Thee,e is a liappy medium betwixt the heartless disposition to 
please nobody, and the absurd aim to please everybody; and for- 
tunate are they who find this middle line, and keep to it so 
steadily as seldom to run into the extreme on either side. 

It is no good sign to be indifferent with respect to what the 
world thinks or says of us, since it would argue either a fulness 
of pride, or a total lack of sensibility. This would be the char- 
acter of such indifference, were it real ; but, in truth, it is mere 
affectation or pretence. If we except those that are at the very 
bottom of the scale of human life, and only a small propor- 
tion even of them, it may be fairly concluded that no man nor 
woman is altogether indifferent about the good or bad opinion of 
fellow beings. So far from it, the few, who lay claim to this 
unamiable distinction, have been found, generally speaking, 
peculiarly rancorous and vindictive toward such as had made 
free with their characters; or had merely spoken disrespectfully 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 229 

of their talents. No authors, for example, have writhed with 
more agony under the merited lash of criticism, or have been 
more jealous and vindictive, than some of those who pretended to 
look down with cold scorn upon the whole fraternity of critics. 

Social qualities and feelings are among the primitive ingre- 
dients of our nature, and to divest ourselves of them would be to 
divest ourselves of humanity itself. They are rather to be 
cherished and cultivated, in every way, and by all lawful means. 
It is not only right, but laudable, to wish to be generally esteemed 
and beloved — to cultivate friendships — to avoid giving unneces- 
sary offence — and to conform to the feelings and customs of those 
about us, so far as maybe done with- a good conscience, and con- 
sistently with one's personal circumstances. It is not only right, 
but laudable, to make it a part of our own pleasure to please others ; 
and, when we are compelled to differ from them, to do it, if pos- 
sible, without rancor or bitterness. 

There is such a thing as a anion of condescension and firmness, 
and a happy thing it is. To condescend in things indifferent, in 
things trivial, in things that touch not the conscience, nor 
seriously damage or endanger one's earthly interest and welfare : 
and meanwhile to go not a step farther for any persuasion what- 
ever — no, not to please one's nearest friends — that is the golden 
mean. As some pretend to care for none, there are those, who, 
on the other hand, try to please all by becoming — not in the best 
sense — " all things to all men." Some do it from selfish designs 
altogether; and others from a too great persuadableness of tem- 
per and yieldingness of heart. The last cant bear, in any cai 
to be opposed or to oppose ; and so they readily fall in with the 
sentiments and views of their present company, and side w T ith 



230 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

every man they meet. Often this pliability of mind or temper 
is owing to a sort of amiable weakness, but it is destructive of 
all respectability of character. 

I know not how to illustrate this point better than by the 
following story, which as to substance and pith may be regarded 
as undoubtedly true. 

Some very long time since, Parson M , of Massachusetts, 

(then a British colony,) happening at Boston, bought him a wig- 
there, and returning home, wore it at church the next Sabbath. 
As a wig of such size and shape was quite a novelty in that 
obscure place, it gave offence to almost the whole congregation, 
who, both male and female, repaired the next day to their minis- 
ter's house, and stated their complaint, the burden of which was, 
that the wig was one of the Boston notions, and had the look of 
fashion and pride. The good-natured minister, thereupon, 
brought it forth, and bade them fashion it to their own liking. 
This task they set about in good earnest, and with the help of 
scissors cropped off lock after lock, till, at last, they all declared 
themselves satisfied, save one — who alleged, that wearing 
any wig at all was, in his opinion, a breach of the command- 
ment, which saith, " Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven 
image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, 

or that is in the earth beneath." This last objector Mr. M 

silenced, by convincing him that the wig, in the condition in 
which it then was, did not resemble any thing either above or 
below. 

Even so fares it with the characters that make it their aim 
to please every body. Slashed on this side and on that, and 
twisted into every shape and out of all shape, they finally come 
to the condition of his Reverence's wig. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 231 



NUMBER LV. 

ON THE EASINESS OF THE TRANSITION FROM CHRISTIAN CIVILIZATION TO 
COMPARATIVE BARBARISM. 

The philosophers of the last age expatiated often and largely on 
the felicitous condition of savages. Those simple children of 
nature, they held up to view as models of human excellence, and 
as possessing the greatest sum of human enjoyment. With 
minds unwarped by prejudice, and with hearts unsophisticated? 
and true to the genuine impulses of nature, their lives reflect, 
forsooth, the express image of primeval innocence. Knowing 
neither the galling fetters of law, nor the unnatural and odious 
distinctions of civilization, they, free as the air they breathe, 
roam their forests, or together enjoy the sports and pastimes 
of social intercourse, without obstacle or hinderance. And 
what though their dwellings are smoky cabins, or nothing bet- 
ter than dens and caves of the earth ? What though their 
raiment, if raiment they have, is foul and squalid ? An d what 
though their scanty food is rancid and loathsome ? No matter. 



232 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Being always accustomed to this way of living, they desire 
nothing better, and, without any repinings or discontent, they 
joyfully receive what nature gives. Happy savage ! happy in 
comparison with civilized man, pining under the cruel power of 
prohibition, doomed to delve the earth or plough the ocean, the 
slave of artificial wants, the prey of ambition and avarice. 
Thrice happy savage ! Threefold more happy than the child of 
restraint, of labor and of care ; threefold more happy than the 
slavish muck-worm of civil society, maugre all his superfluous 
wealth, and his boasted arts and institutions. 

Such were the dreams of former days — even of days not long- 
past. But they are known now to be but dreams. Subsequent 
discoveries have confounded the philosophism of Rousseau, and 
put to shame the disciples of his school. Many have run to and 
rOs and knowledge has been increased. Great indeed, and far 
beyond all former example, has been the accession of knowledge, 
within the last forty years, respecting the habitants of our globe. 
Travellers and voyagers have traversed, as it were, the whole 
living world in every direction. New regions have been ex- 
plored. Nations and tribes, formerly unknown or scarcely known, 
have been closely inspected ; their morals, their manners, and 
their modes of living, carefully noted and accurately described. — 
And the results are unfavorable alike to the condition, and to 
the character of the mere child of nature. It is found that the 
dim lights, which are beheld here and there amidst the thick 
darkness of the pagan world, sprang from patriarchal tradition ; 
that even in civilized, countries, in no wise illumined with the 
rays of the gospel, the most abominable idolatries, and the most 
horrible practices in social and domestic life, are sanctioned by 



ON THE '22 



Q 



long and immemorial custom : and that the child of nature, the 
mere savage,. :; is every where found to be a restless, unfeeling, 
treacherous and ferocious animal.*' 

There is one respect, however, in which philosophism has been 
not altogether in the wrong. It is, that the savage state is the 
most natural, that is to say, the most congenial with the depraved 
feelings and propensities of the human kind. Well-ordered, 
social institutions are mounds which virtue erects against vice, 
and which vice is ever struggling to demolish. Whereas, in 
what is called the state of nature, every man does what seemeth 
him good; indulging with little or no restraint in whatever his 
heart inclines him to. And of all things in the world, this is the 
sweetest : more gratifying than to be " clothed in purple, to drink 
in gold, and to sleep upon gold." Nothing is more natural to 
man than the love of liberty, or more delicious to his heart than 
the uncontrolled enjoyment of it : — of the liberty of doing as he 
pleases ; of openly acting, in every way, and in all cases, accord- 
ing to his inclinations, without dread of punishment or fear of 
shame. Upon this liberty — which indeed is the only liberty for 
which our fallen nature has a sincere and an unreserved liking — 
the laws of regular government, the customs and opinions of vir- 
tuous society, and, above all, the institutes of a most holy reli- 
gion, are galling checks. 

Hence it is, in a considerable part, that the transition from 
civilization to savageness is much easier than from the latter con- 
dition to the former. Almost always, a savage feels a decided 
preference for his own way of life, and looks down upon the ac- 
cumulated conveniences of civilized man, not with a cold indif- 
ference, but with utter disgust and contempt. Not for all the 



234 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

wealth that the world could confer, would he barter his liberty. 
If you take away a savage boy, and bring him into the bosom of 
civilized society, he pines for his native wilds. Though you feed, 
and clothe, and instruct him, and even caress him as your own 
child, he still pines with discontent. Or even if, perchance, you 
get him to be apparently satisfied with his new situation, after 
a short sojourn with savages, he becomes as much a savage as 
ever. But though the ascent is hard and painful, the descent is 
easy. A boy taken from civilized life, and made to live with 
savages, how soon he is identified with them, in feeling as well as 
in manners ! — When brought back, after a few years, to his 
native home, how difficult, how next to impossible it is, to dis- 
solve the charm that had fastened itself upon him ; to cure him 
of his wildness : to make him steady, and industrious, and satisfied 
under the wholesome restraints of law and religion. It is not 
theory, but experience that speaks in this wise. 

Nor are these the only instances with which experience fur- 
nishes us. There is one of much greater importance, and of 
far deeper interest ; it is the apparent unconcern, not to say 
eagerness, with which multitudes of our countrymen recede from 
civilized life. — Look ! what perpetual streams of emigration from 
the bosom of a civilized and religious society to the outskirts of 
the living world. Look ! how new levies of the forlorn hope 
eagerly advance forward, year by year, beyond the last ulterior 
limits ; leaving behind them regions of wilderness, thinly check- 
ered, here and there, with marks of cultivation. 

" The world is all before them where to choose." 

See the population of an immense frontier, — a population of 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 

millions " of our own color, flesh and blood,'" — nearly as destitute 
of the means of moral and religious improvement as the savage 
u who yells on the banks of the Missouri " — without schools, with- 
out a ministry, without religious institutions, without the Sabbath, 
without Bibles ; sunk and still sinking into the depths of moral de- 
basement ; their children growing up under the blasting influence 
of an unchristian culture, with scarcely any sense of moral or reli- 
gious obligation ! 

Xot that no part of the spectacle is cheering. The sight of 
so many frightful wilds, the dreary haunts of ravening beasts, 
turned into fruitful fields, is delightful, at the same time that it 
reflects credit upon the industry, the enterprise, the hardihood, 
and the perseverance of our countrymen. But it is advancing 
too fast. There are few, if any, even of those old settlements 
whose population is yearly drained away by thousands, which 
might not, by improved cultivation, by husbanding all their re- 
sources; and by returning to the plain living of former times, be 
made to support even a great increase of population, while their 
superior intellectual, social, moral, and religious advantages would 
much more than countervail any advantage obtainable bv emi- 
grating into foreign deserts. The emigrations are not, however, 
from the old settlements only. The roving spirit of the Tartar 
and the Arab, seems to have seized the Americans. Even when 
a recent frontier is scarcely populated in the proportion of the 
twentieth part of it, they begin to remove further out : as if it 
were the object nearest their hearts to recede as far as possible 
from the very appearance of civilization. 



238 THE BRIEF BEMABKEB 



NUMBER LVI. 

A COMMENT TTP0X A CELEBRATED ALLEGOET OF AXTIQTJITY. 

A celebrated ancient philosopher of the pagan school, has re- 
presented human nature under the similitude or analogy of a 
chariot drawn by two horses : the one of excellent mettle and 
lively motion : and the other sluggish and obstinate ; so that 
while the former sprung forward, his mate hung back. And it 
must be owned that there is a striking aptness in this little alle- 
gory. 

Of all the animals in the whole living world, none are seen 
to act inconsistently but those of Adam's race. The lower 
animals, acting from what we call blind instinct, are. nevertheless, 
uniform and consistent in their conduct ; while we, who proudly 
lay claim to the high endowments of reason, run into inconsisten- 
cies and absurdities every day of our lives. "VYe know the right, 
and approve it ; we see the wrong, and condemn it : and after all, 
very often the right we reject or forsake, and the wrong we pur- 
sue. 



OX THE WAYS lN. 231 

This marvellous phenomenon, namely, the disjointed condition 
of human nature and the perpetual variance of man with himself, 
has been plainly visible in all ages; and oft and many a time, 
has mole-eyed philosophy puzzled herself in vain to account for it. 
It used to be thou e engrossers of the mi of 

world, that the mind and the body were unequally yoked t 
ther : that the former, being of celestial mould, was naturally in- 
clined to mount upward, and that the latter ever checked the 
noble flights of its yoke-fellow, forcing it back to kindred earth. 
The wise son of Sirach seems to have been tinctured by this fash- 
ionable philosophy, when he remarked, " The corruptible- body 
weigheth down the soul." 

For which reason, the body has met with hard usage among 
the religionists of different schools. The bigots of paganism, 
and the bigots of popery in the dark age, regarding their bodies 
as clogs to, and polluters of their nobler part, proceeded to treat 
these unworthy co -partners with unmerited scorn and cruelty. 

Revelation, fairly understood, sets this whole matter in a 
clear light. In it we see whence sprang the strange incons 
in human nature, and from it we learn that, as neither the soul 
can subsist in the present state without the body, nor the body 
without the soul, so they should live together in harmony — pro- 
vided that the inferior be never permitted to ,_ t the upper hand, 
but be kept at all times in due subjection to its superior. 

This allegory of Plato, aptly represents the strange dispar 
of the Mind and Heart, and the unnatural discord and strife 
often existing between these two neighboring powers. And here 
I must premise that by the mind is meant the intellectual facul- 
ties, and by the heart, the tui s issions, 



238 THE BEIEF KEMARKER 

prejudices, and wayward volitions, as well as the benign family 
of moral virtues. The subject is no less prolific than interest- 
ing : — but here it must suffice barely to mention two prominent 
particulars. 

1. Not unfrequently there are yoked together minds and 
hearts, very unequal as respects natural strength. Some have 
stout hearts, but feeble minds ; what is called valor they possess 
in a high degree, but their understandings are dwarfish. 

On the other hand, some men of large and powerful under- 
standings, are devoid of valor, and even remarkable for their 
timidity. — Horace, the first of geniuses, threw away his shield in 
battle, and took to his heels. And Cicero, a man of a most 
luminous mind, had far less active courage than Pompey, who was 
many degrees below him on the intellectual scale. 

2. There are some persons, strong in understanding, and yet 
weak to resist the impulses of passion and appetite ; and this 
moral defect is fatal to their character and ruinous to their hap- 
piness. A firmness of Will to obey the dictates of reason, in 
despite of the din of clamorous appetites and passions, is the 
parent of every thing morally good and noble. On the contrary, 
if this strength be wanting to the heart, the highest degree of 
intellectual strength and brightness may be associated with the 
lowest degree of moral debasement. 

How powerful, and almost seraphic the mind of Bacon ! How 
pitifully weak the fortress of his heart ! The reverse of this 
appalling picture may be seen in the life of him, whose memory 
we so delight to honor. A biographer of Washington remarks ; — 
" Possessing strong natural passions, and having the nicest sense 
of honor, he was in early life prone keenly to resent practices 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 239 

which carried the intention of injury or insult, but the reflections 
of niaturer age gave him the most perfect government of himself." 
His characteristic feature was a persevering resolution to act, on 
every emergency, according to his sense of right and duty. — And 
it is probable that there is no man, either among the living, or 
mentioned on the page of history, who followed more unswerving- 
ly the dictates of his profound and discriminating judgment, and 
of his enlightened conscience ; and it is that which makes his 
character so peculiarly venerable. 

a Illustrious man ! deriving honor less from the splendor of 
his situation than from the dignity of his mind ; before whom all 
borrowed greatness sinks into insignificance, and all the princes 
and potentates of Europe become little and insignificant. He 
has no occasion to have recourse to any tricks of policy or arts of 
alarm ; his authority has been supported by the same means by 
which it was acquired, and his conduct has uniformly been char- 
acterized by wisdom, moderation and firmness." 

Resolutely to deny, in all cases, one's appetites, passions and 
desires, when they are inconsistent with reason and duty, is a 
cardinal virtue in human character, which, however, is rarely 
seen in persons who were not disciplined to it in their early years. 
Wherefore, to lead its pupils to master their appetites and pas- 
sions, is one of the essential arts of a good education ; nor is any 
thing more necessary through the whole course of life, than to 
suppress and to subdue those rebellious emotions of the heart, 
which war against the law of the mind. 

The goodness and wisdom of Providence, directed to the pro- 
duction of human happiness, puts the means, in a great mea- 



240 THE BRIEF BEMARKER 

sure, withiu our reach. u The efficacy of conduct of every 
sort does not depend so much on force of understanding, which 
is not in our power, as on integrity of Will, which is in our 
power/' 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 241 



NUMBEK LVIL 

OF FOE GETTING OLD DEBTS, AND SHUFFLING OFF THE PAYMENT OF 

SMALL ONES. 

There -is a pretty large number of men in this country, who, 
though not of the Hebrew stock, do, nevertheless, cleave fast to 
that part of the old Mosaical law, which enjoins a Release. They 
think, or seem too think, that the debts owed by them are by 
so much the less binding, by how much the older they have 
grown ; and that when they come to be seven years of age, they 
are of course cancelled in the chancery of equity and conscience. 
This is more particularly the case as respects small debts ; about 
which a great many, otherwise of good memories, have a con- 
venient lack of recollection. 

The following story I have heard related as matter of fact. — 
No very long while since, A. lent his neighbor B. a small sum of 
money, to be repaid in one week. However, without any thing 
being said about it on either side, it ran on a whole year, when 
the lender asked for the money, and got a prompt renewal of the 
old promise of payment in a week's time. In the same way it 
11 



242 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

was permitted to run on another year, when the loan was craved 
again, and again was the same promise renewed. At the end of 
the third year, A. solicited payment for the third time, and in 
the presence of a third person ; and receiving naught but a new 
edition of the same fair promises, he expressed his determination 
of speedily doing himself justice, and went his way in a pet. B. 
was amazed at this uncourteous behavior — for they had ever before 
been loving friends — he was struck with amazement, and address- 
ing himself to the said third person, remarked : " That neighbor 
of mine, sir, I must needs say, is a worthy man in the main, but, 
after all, he is an oddity. The trifling debt, do you see, is an old 
affair, an affair of several years' standing, and yet he duns me as 
hard as if I had borrowed the money but a month ago !" 

It is a curious fact, of no very auspicious omen, that, while 
most other things have been growing dearer, promises have been 
growing cheaper. They have come to be like that kind of drug 
that operates speedily, or not at all. They become stale, as it 
were, by time ; so that the longer the exaction of performance is 
forborne, the more difficult it is to obtain it. Hence small debts 
that have waxen old, are as bad as lost, being scarcely worth the 
trouble of collecting. 

Nor is it altogether among the baser sort that this delin- 
quency is found. You may find it among men of high standing, 
and of honorable feelings in most other respects. They would 
scorn the imputation of meanness, or falsehood, or roguery ; but, 
nevertheless, permit themselves to forget their promises, especially 
in little matters, and the rather, perhaps, from thinking that 
their creditors, out of respect or fear, would as lief lose the debt 
as urge for payment in good earnest. It is found, often found, 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 243 

among men, mild in temper, courteous in their manners, kind and 
neighborly, hospitable in their houses, and, in short, of excellent 
reputations, save in this single particular. If you are in distress 
and need their charity, they will give ; but if they owe you, they 
will shuffle oft payment without any regard to your interest or 
feelings. 

Marvellous inconsistency ! Are they so blind as not to see 
that withholding just dues, of however small amount, is positive 
injustice ? That it scarce makes any difference on the moral 
scale, whether one niches from his neighbor, or intentionally with- 
holds what belongs to him ? Are they unaware that it destroys 
their credit, and blots their reputation ? That it attaches to 
them a general suspicion of want of principle, or rather of wilful 
falsehood and dishonesty ? Are they unaware of the smothered 
indignation that burns in the bosoms of those they so lightly 
disappoint ? Of the hard and bitter things that are privately 
said of them, on this account, even by their friends ? Or, finally, 
are they unaware that the public interest suffers more from this 
species of evil than from all the theft and robbery committed 
in the land ; and that, if all men acted in this respect like 
them, there would be an end to private credit and mutual con- 
fidence ? 

Small debts are entitled to be regarded as debts of honor. 
A man of strict honor, and competent means, will be particularly 
careful to discharge, spontaneously and punctually, those trifling 
debts, which it is so unpleasant even to ask for, and much more 
to dun for over and over again. A man of strict honesty will 
say not to his neighbor, " Go, and come again, and to-morrow I 
will pay," when he has it by him. Instead of which, it is his 



244 



THE BRIEF REMARKER 



settled rule, as far as his circumstances will permit, to pay with- 
out delay, without hesitation, without grudging, without giving 
his neighbor the trouble and pain of repeated requisition and im- 
portunate solicitations. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 245 



NUMBER LVIII. 



OF DEVOTEDNESS TO PLEASURE. 



It is an irrefragable maxim, as well of experience as of revelation, 
that He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man. Indeed scarce 
any maxim is so fully sanctioned by experience ; since, in all 
ages, and among all ranks and classes, an inordinate love of 
pleasure has proved the certain road to want and ruin. 

Most strikingly verified is this sacred text in the instances of 
drunkards and debauchees, who give up themselves, soul and 
body, to the embraces of pleasure, in her grossest and most dis- 
gusting forms. Always and every where, those profligates, after 
a short run, come out not merely poor men, but poor creatures. 
Inevitably, and very shortly, they become the poorest of the poor, 
alike destitute in circumstances, and contemptible in character ; 
a burden to their friends, and a heavier burden to themselves. 

Mark the young beginner in the career of profligacy ; one not 
of the baser nor even of the commoner sort — a child of fortune. 
How accomplished ! how blithe and jovial ! 



246 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Mark him again in his next stage, when youth is just ripened 
into the maturity of manhood. 

" If thou beest he, but O how fallen ! how changed ! " 

See his bloated countenance, his livid cheek, his beamless eyes ! 

Once more, mark his mid-age. The crop is now fully ripe. See 
what it is ! — squalid poverty, loathsome disease ; bodily decre- 
pitude and mental imbecility ; alike loathsome and self-loathing. 

Finally, mark his end. " This man of pleasure., when, after a 
wretched scene of vanity and woe, his animal nature is worn to 
the stumps, wishes and dreads death, by turns." — Now he is sick 
of life, and bitterly chides the tardiness of time : — anon be starts 
back with horror, lest the grave should not prove a " dreamless 
bed." The classes of downright drunkards and debauchees in- 
clude, however, but a small proportion of the hapless mortals, 
whom the siren Pleasure allures to their ruin and destruction. 

" Come on, let us enjoy the good things that are present. 
Let us crown ourselves with rose buds, before they be withered.' l 
With such language it is that the sorceress persuades and 
prompts the youthful heart * nor does she persuade and prompt 
in vain. The delicious poison insinuates itself, and spreads over 
the whole frame. The youth, thus infected, becomes unstable in 
all his ways. All close and steady application, whether to study 
or to business, he heartily loathes. Plodding industry of cxerj 
kind, he regards with scorn. To make, as it were, a holiday of 
the whole year round, is the object of his desire, and the summit 
of his ambition. As years multiply upon him, his habits of 
fickleness are but the more riveted. He is within the circum- 
ference of a whirlpool, with a heart and mind too enervated to 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 247 

force his way back. Perhaps he remains, however, on the ex- 
tremity, and never, in his whole lifetime, is drawn to the fatal 
centre, where is utter wreck of reputation, and of the whole moral 
frame. Perhaps he escapes the grosser vices. Perhaps no foul 
blot cleaves to his character, and the worst that can be said of 
him is, that he is a careless, imprudent, and improvident man, a 
devoted lover of jolly company ; that he is here, and there, and 
every where, except at home and about his own proper business. 

Lucky indeed, if he be no worse off; but lucky as he is, he must 
needs be a poor man ; poor in worldly circumstances, and cf a 
character almost worthless at the best. If he is left with a for- 
tune, it melts away in his improvident hands. If he begins the 
world without fortune, he lays up nothing for sickness and old 
age; instead of which, he ever lives beyond his income by leech- 
ing his friends, and abusing the confidence of his creditors. If 
he have a family, his wife mingles her scanty meal with her tears, 
while their children receive little from him but an example that 
powerfully tends to lead them astray. In short, he is exactly 
such as no downright honest and honorable man would choose to 
be. If all were like him, poverty, wretchedness and misery, would 
pervade the whole fabric of human society. 

It need scarcely be added, that a lover of pleasure (even one 
of the comparatively innocuous sort last mentioned) seldom eDJoys 
his proportionable share of that commodity. At best, his empty 
pleasure is so mixed up with vexation of spirit, that he more 
abundantly feels the one than enjoys the other. Not to mention 
that an idle, useless life, however free from gross immorality, is 
in the sight of heaven a criminal life ; it is burying the talent 



248 THE BRIEF REMAJEtKEE 

that ought to have been employed diligently, and to useful pur- 
poses. 

We have received our earthly existence, not on conditions of 
our own prescribing, but on the conditions prescribed by Him 
who made us. With respect to the present life as well as the 
future one, it is to be expected that the quality of the harvest 
will be the same as that of the seed. If we eat up the seed, we 
prevent the crop. If we sow the tares of idleness and prodi- 
gality, we shall reap the tares of poverty and shame. — There is 
no such thing as abolishing, or bending, or evading the fixed laws 
of nature ; whether we like them or not, they will go steadily into 
effect. 

See you a young man diligent in his business, frugal, provident 
and sober ? you see one who will be respected and respectable ; 
who, in all probability, will enjoy, through life, at least a compe- 
tence ; and who will be a blessing to his family, to his friends, 
and to society at large. On the other hand, when you see young 
men idle, improvident, extravagant, averse from all regular and 
close attention to useful business, and practically saying in the 
general course of their lives, t: Go to now, let us enjoy pleasure ; " — 
you then see such as are speeding, if not into atrocious crimes, at 
least into the condition of beggarly want ; such as will wring the 
hearts of fathers, mothers, wives, and children; such as will be 
moths upon society, rather than its useful and worthy members. 

Even ivorldly interest imperiously requires self denial. One 
who can deny himself nothing, will be good for nothing, however 
excellent be his talents, and however great his advantages. To 
teach youths the art of self-denial, is one of the essential branches 
of good education. That is best done by storing their minds, 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 249 

seasonably, "with the precepts, prohibitions, and warnings con- 
tained in the Holy Bible. Next to this, they should, by all means, 
be kept from contracting habits of idleness and dissipation, and 
be so inured to some kind or other of laudable industry, that 
their very toil, whether of business or of study, will be at length a 
pleasure. 



250 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER LIX. 

OF VANITY, AS MAKING PAET OF THE WARP OF OUR GENERAL NATURE. 

Vanity, or the undefinable human quality called by that name, 
being the subject now under consideration, the following plain 
little story is somewhat proper to open with. 

The Baron de Tott, happening to come of a sudden into the 
company of a knot of Turkish ladies, who, from the usage of their 
country and the precepts of their religion, were in duty bound to 
be veiled always in the presence of strangers of the other sex : he 
remarks in the book of his travels, that the elderly matrons made 
haste to veil themselves, but the young and the handsome remained 
with their faces uncovered for some time after his entrance. 

Now, if this be a notable instance of female nature, it springs, 
nevertheless, from a principle belonging to the general nature of 
our species, and which operates with nearly equal force in both 
sexes. It is not Woman alone that is vain. — " Surely every Man 
walketh in a vain show" — at least in some one respect or other. 

There is scarcely any single ingredient that more thoroughly 
pervades human nature, than the one that goes by the general name 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 251 

of Vanity. Hence it was to vanity that the cunning tempter ad- 
dressed his temptations in the garden, with such deplorable suc- 
cess ; and to vanity he addressed his temptations in the wilder- 
ness, where he was so signally foiled. He knew the weakest side 
of humanity, and there made his attacks. 

The strange quality called vanity, is a particular modification 
of the general principle of selfishness, and is exactly the reverse 
of the scriptural precept, Let each esteem other better than 
himself. It would be difficult to define it, and still more difficult 
to describe it, in all its symptoms, and trace it throughout all its 
numerous branches : and yet, if you observe with a close and 
discriminating eye, it is impossible to mistake it ; for to the 
mind's ken it is clearly visible, in its every shape, however un- 
definable and indescribable. Vanity is, as it were, " the froth of 
pride," and is distinguishable from downright, unmixed pride, 
which is stiff and unbending: whereas vanity is flexible, and 
bends any way, and every way, to set itself off. But though vanity 
is different in some respects from pride, it has in its nature, per- 
haps, quite as much selfishness ; self-display being its constant 
and invariable object, or rather the pole star, towards which its 
every thought and every action tend. 

Although the principal food of vanity is wealth, rank, learn- 
ing, wit, beauty, eloquence, strength, valor, or the whatever some- 
thing that distinguishes the individual from the multitude ; yet 
it can live and thrive on food of almost every kind and nature. 
" "We may see vanity living in a hovel, vanity clothed in rags, 
vanity begging by the way, vanity conjoined with bodily ugliness 
and deformity : " it is to be found as well in savage, as in 
civilized life ; as well amongst the squalid and beggarly race of 



252 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

gypsies, as in polished society. In a word, it can find nourish- 
ment and gratification in all extremes ; in the haggard looks and 
squalid habiliments of a hermit — provided they confer distinc- 
tion — as much as in brocades, pearls and diamonds. It is quite 
as much gratified with the distinction of humility, as with that 
of loftiness and splendor. If a Cardinal of the Romish church is 
vain of the lofty title, His Eminence, the Greek Patriarch of 
Constantinople is, probably, no less vain of the humble title, 
His Lowliness. Nor was the vanity of the most lordly and as- 
piring of all the Popes of Rome, ever more gratified, perhaps, 
than when, under the gaze of the public, they were employed, 
upon their knees, in washing the feet of some of their beggarly 
vassals. In sober truth, vanity is never more conveniently 
lodged, than when she lies concealed under the disguise of ex- 
treme humility. 

Sometimes, Vanity, to gain her point, disclaims even her own 
existence. 1 say it without vanity — 1 speak it without the 
least ostentation — is often made the prelude to self-commenda- 
tion. 

It is questionable whether man would be a laughing animal, 
if he were not a vain one But, without all question, it is vanity 
that most generally affects his risibles, when he laughs at his fel- 
low-man. 

In many instances, Public Virtue would never have gone so 
far, if Vanity had not borne it company. Jehu, for example, 
never had driven so furiously to carry forward a holy cause, had 
not Vanity ridden with him — u Come, see my zeal." 

What is called liberality, frequently is nothing more than the 
vanity of giving. We are exceedingly prone to give (whenever 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 253 

we give at all), hoping to receive — if not in kind — at least in cre- 
dit and honor. So, also, Vanity gives praise, in hope of receiving 
it back again with interest. 

It is owing to vanity that we voluntarily endure unhappiness 
to appear happy ; that we rob ourselves of necessaries, to appear 
as if our circumstances were plentiful and affluent. Many a one 
is at more expense in maintaining Vanity's brood than it would 
cost him to bring up, in a plain way, a family of children. 

Vanity undervalues itself with a view to extort praise. 
" When any one," says Dr. Johnson, " complains of the want of 
what he is known to possess in an eminent degree, he waits with 
impatience to be contradicted." 

Reproof is often given, not so much to mend the reproved, as to 
show that the reprover is free from the faults himself. Advice 
is often offered, rather to give the adviser the air of wisdom than 
to benefit the advised. 

Secrets, oftentimes, are divulged more from the vanity of 
one's having been intrusted with them, than from any other mo- 
tive. 

As vanity, in different proportions, variously directed, mixed 
up with different elements, and displaying itself in different 
forms, is a universal quality or principle in mankind, so it belongs 
to our species exclusively perhaps. For we have no reason to 
think that, either above or below us, in the whole universe of 
God, there is any other race or order of creatures fully like to 
man in this respect. Nor man, nor woman, is there, who hath 
not so much as a little spice of vanity, either in external conduct, 
or in the secret folds of the mind and heart. In a moderate de- 
gree, this marvellous qualicy of our species, is not inconsistent 



254 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

with real and great moral excellence : but in the extreme, or when 
it is the master -principle, it is that plague of the heart, which 
taints all the springs of action. Neither is there any thing more 
carefully to be guarded against, and nipped in the bud, in the course 
of early education. Because the extreme of vanity is of near kin 
to the extreme of avarice. The very vain person, like the very 
avaricious one. makes every thing centre in self, and will use as 
many low and vile tricks for applause, as does the other for wealth. 
Moreover, vanity, like avarice, commonly increases with age, and 
like that, the more plenteously it is fed, the more voracious grows 
its appetite. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 255 



NUMBEE LX. 

OF THE EUEFUL CONSEQUENCES OF LIVING TOO FAST. 

Few practical errors of a secular nature are of so innocent inten- 
tion, and yet of so direful consequence, as that of over living, 
for the special sake of making a figure. The men and women, 
who are first the subjects of this error and then its victims, are 
not usually of the baser sort. This path, bordered on every side 
with precipices, is often gone into unawares at first. It is indis- 
cretion mixed up with vanity, and that without a single particle 
of the corrupt leaven of intentional dishonesty, that leads men 
into it. But though overliving may, in its commencement, be 
owing to mere indiscretion combined with vanity, yet in its pro- 
gress it becomes deserving of a far worse name. That is indeed 
a pernicious and mortal error, by which one puts himself into 
circumstances which, as it were, compel him to commit new errors 
increasing in magnitude as fast as in number. 

The error I have been describing, would be not so direful if 
it admitted of an easy cure ; but though there is an obvious 
remedy, yet, in some cases, to apply it in season requires uncom- 



256 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

mon fortitude. Indeed in the single state, or even in the mar- 
ried state while the children of the family are in their infancy, it 
is not very difficult to retrench inordinate expenses, provided the 
tivain happen to be one as to opinion of the expediency of it ; — a 
thing that might be as common, perhaps, as it now is rare, if hus- 
bands would only inform their wives in good season of the un- 
prosperous condition of their worldly affairs. But through pride, 
false delicacy, or whatever motive else, wives are often held in 
ignorance of the true state of their family circumstances, till the 
moment that ruin breaks upon them ; and then are they up- 
braided by the world for an extravagance, which they had not 
run into but for the bandage upon their eyes. 

In families where the children, and particularly the daughters, 
are grown up, or nearly grown up, the impediments to a prudent 
retrenchment of expenses are multiplied. For though both father 
and mother see the absolute need of it, it is no easy matter to con- 
vince the youthful gentry of it, or to dispose them, if convinced, 
to sink, of their own free wills, from splendid young ladies, into 
plain, industrious, frugal girls. Their remonstrances, their en- 
treaties, and especially their tears, it is hard to resist : — and so 
it happens that a great many continue to steer toward the fatal 
gulf, though it be clearly in their view. 

When a man is once resolved to keep up expensive appear- 
ances till he can hold out no longer, his moral frame goes to 
wreck as fast as his circumstances. However honest, however 
trustworthy he may have been in his better days, he no longer 
possesses these estimable qualities, nor any just sense of honor. 
He casts about him for arts of shift and evasion. The perpetual 
duns at his door, he tries to satisfy with fair promises, which he 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 257 

has no expectation or intention of performing. His heart be- 
comes callous toward his creditors, and he grows quite regardless 
of their feelings, however deplorably they have to suffer by him. 
Like a drowning man he catches at every thing. To gain a little 
respite, he will inveigle his near friend into suretiship for him, and 
will drag his friend along with him to ruin. 

Poor human nature is seldom proof against strong tempta- 
tions voluntarily run into ; and as seldom, perhaps, in the in- 
stance under consideration as in any other. Nor are there any 
who are fairly entitled to promise themselves beforehand, that 
their integrity can stem the moral whirlpool, in which so many 
characters, once fair, have been overwhelmed. 

An excellent rule has been laid down by the eminent moral- 
ist, Dr. Johnson ; and it were to be wished, that young men, in 
particular, would remember it, and make a practical use of it at 
the outset of active life. The rule is this — " A man's voluntary 
expenses should not exceed his income." A huge mass of misery 
and mischief might be prevented, were it the general custom to 
adhere to this maxim. 

Honest young householders, ye that are now beginning life 
together in the wedded state, guard with particular care against 
the lust of the eye. Of all our senses, that of eye-sight seems to 
have the nearest affinity with the heart, and the most often to 
lead it astray. The philosophers of antiquity were so sensible of 
this, that, to concentrate and rectify their ideas, one of them, 
JDemocrituSj was said to put out his eyes, and another, Pytha- 
goras, to shut himself up a w T hole winter in a subterraneous cave. 
Now though, fortunately for our age and country, these ex- 
amples are as destitute of admirers as of followers, yet the ex- 



258 THE BRIEF EEMARKEK 

ercise of constant watchfulness over the eyes was never, and no- 
where, more needful : the common folly of large expenses where 
there is but small income, being committed, for the most part, 
rather to please the eye than from any other motive — and not so 
much for the sake of the spender's eyes, as to attract the eyes of 
others. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 259 



NUMBER LXI. 



OF BANQUETING UPON BOKE OWING. 



"Be not made a beggar by banqueting upon borrowing, when thou hast nothing in thy 
purse."— Eccles. xviii. 38. 

The moral philosopher of old Jewry, who penned this admirable 
book, is practical in his observations, and, at the same time, 
acute and discriminating. He dips not into the incomprehensible 
subtleties of abstract science, relative to the mysterious frame 
and texture of humanity, but describes the wonderful creature, 
Man, such as he is shown to be by his actions, and adapts his 
moral and prudential cautions and precepts to man, as he is — to 
his condition and conduct in real life. 

Whether the sage had himself been taken in by some of them, 
or from whatever cause, he hits off certain borrowers of his own 
time with a peculiar keenness of description, in the passage that 
here follows. 

" Many, when a thing was lent them, reckoned it to be found, 



260 THE BRIEF REMARKER. 

and put them to trouble that helped them. Till he hath receiv- 
ed, he will kiss a man's hand ; for his neighbor's money he will 
speak submissively ; but when he should repay, he will prolong 
the time, and return words of grief, and complain of the time. 
If he prevail, he shall hardly receive the half, and shall count as 
if he had found it : if not, he hatH deprived him of his money, 
and he hath gotten him an enemy without cause : he payeth him 
with cursings and railings ; and for honor he will pay him dis- 
grace." 

The sage next proceeds to relate how the aforesaid conduct 
of some certain borrowers went to discourage all liberality in 
lending. " Many therefore have refused to lend for other men's 
ill-dealing, fearing to be defrauded." 

And here one might amuse himself not a little with compar- 
ing the past with the present — things relative to borrowing and 
lending, as they stood some thousand years ago, with what they 
are now-a-days, in this goodly country of ours. 

But to proceed : our venerable author is not as a coldblooded 
satirist, who rather labors to excite the feelings of scorn and ha- 
tred, than of compassion. He gives, on the contrary, no counten- 
ance to covetous hoarding ; — much less to griping extortion. 
He saith not, " Since things are so, it is best to trust nobody." 
No. So far was this ungracious sentiment from the heart of the 
son of Sirach, that he warmly inculcates a noble liberality, a dis- 
interested benevolence. For after having observed, that mamj 
refused to lend for other men 's ill-dealing^ fearing to be de- 
frauded, he immediately adds, "Yet have thou patience with a 
man in poor estate, and delay not to show him mercy. Help the 
poor, for the commandment's sake, and turn him not away, be- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 261 

cause of his poverty. Lose thy money for thy brother and thy 
friend, and let it not rust tender a stone to be lost."'' Again, in 
the same chapter he says, " He that is merciful will lend unto his 
neighbor.'' — u Lend to thy neighbor in the time of his need.*' 
And elsewhere, he cautions against a churlishness of expression 
and manner in the act of giving, and by parity of reason. 
in lending. " My son, blemish not thy good deeds, neither 
use uncomfortable words when thou givest." All which is 
accompanied with this wholesome injunction to the other party. 
" Pay thou thy neighbor again in due season. Keep thy word, 
and deal faithfully with him, and thou shalt always find the thing 
that is necessary for thee." 

Upon the whole, then, it may be fairly concluded, that the 
precious book now under consideration — which indeed possesses 
every venerable attribute, with the exception of inspiration alone 
— is very far from altogether discouraging the neighborly inter- 
course of borrowing and lending ; seeing that the scope of its 
lessons on this subject, is to recommend moderation and scrupu- 
lous punctuality to the one class, and a humane and generous 
line of conduct to the other. 

One may borrow occasionally, and be the better for it. and, at 
the same time, the lender suffer no injury or inconvenience : but 
to banquet upon borrowing, is a beggarly way of living. If thou 
hast nothing in thy purse, replenish it, if possible, with thy own 
earnings, rather than by borrowing ; or if that be impossible for 
the present, yet be cautious against borrowing more than is 
needful, and ever be careful to pay it back in due time. For — 
to repeat the admonition before cited — " Pay thou thy neighbor 
again in due season. Keep thy word, and deal faithfully with 



262 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

him, and thou shalt always find the thing that is necessary for 
thee." 

I entreat the reader's particular attention to the matter which 
I have just now rehearsed, since it comes from no ordinary au- 
thority, and is of superior excellence in itself. For the rest, the 
few observations that will follow, must suffice. 

In the simple old times of our author, borrowing for a pre- 
mium, or on interest, was scarcely known. So that they who, in 
those days, banqueted on borrowing, must have done it only in a 
small way, which bears no sort of comparison w T ith the every 
day's experience of the present age. This thing has, with us, 
been carried to a wild extreme, utterly unknown to any former 
age, or in any other country ; and a frightful mass of wretched- 
ness has been the natural consequence. But passing this over, 
what remains is to consider the subject of borrowing, on the small 
scale, and according to the most general acceptation of the word. 

In this sense of the term, one who borrows, contracts a debt, 
with respect to which every principle of honesty and honor binds 
him to observe the utmost punctuality. For the lender gives up 
the use of his property without fee or reward. All he demands 
or expects is, that the thing be returned in good condition, and 
punctually, according to promise. Wherefore, a loan is a sort of 
sacred debt ; and to delay payment — much more never to pay 
though there be no want of power, is returning evil for good, in- 
jury for kindness. Would that this vexatious frailty of character 
were rare as it is common ! In order to a radical reform in this 
important particular, much attention must be paid to it in the 
early season of education. It is a great deal easier to form the 
young mind to correct habits, than to cure it of bad ones once 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 263 

contracted. For which reason, children should be carefully 
taught to mind their promises, and to restore whatever they bor- 
row, in good condition, and by the set time. Nor is it enough 
merely to give them precepts upon this subject ; it must be worked 
into their practice, even from their earliest years. 

In conclusion, there is one description of borrowers, who may 
fitly be termed leeches or sponges. These are persons who, out 
of pure stinginess, are in the habit of borrowing of their neigh- 
bors the necessary implements of their daily business. They 
think it cheaper to borrow than to buy. but generally, in the 
long run, they are losers by it themselves ; and meanwhile, in 
this way, they are giving a deal of trouble to those about 
them, whose smothered resentments are neither few nor small. 



264 THE BRIEF BEMARKEE 



NUMBER LXII. 



OF THE PPaNCIPLE OF SHAME. 



No point is more clear, than that moral worth is superior to 
every thing else which bears the name of worth ; that virtue in 
rags is more respectable than vice in brocade. 

" In the drama of life it is not to be considered who among 
actors is prince or who is beggar, but who acts prince or beggar 
best." So taught Epictetus, a celebrated philosopher of ancient 
Greece ; and Pope has versified him in the following couplet. 

" Honor and shame from no condition rise : 
Act "well your part ; 'tis there true honor lies." 

All this is well said. That the point of honor lies, not so 
much in having a grand or a conspicuous part to act, as in acting 
well the part that Providence allots us, is a position that admits 
of no dispute. But although it contradicts the theory of almost 
nobody, it is contrary to the practice of almost every body. 

He that acts upon the stage of life a high part, will be 
courted, and he that acts a low part will be slighted ; though the 
latter should verv far excel the former in all that relates to the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 265 

qualities of the heart. The man that comes in with the gold 
ring, and in goodly apparel, is respectfully invited to sit here, in 
a good place : while the child of poverty, whose raiment is vile, is 
ordered to sit there, at the foot-stool ; and that without any re- 
gard to real merit or demerit. This is the fashion of the world : 
a fashion which all do more or less follow. 

It would in nowise be difficult to carry this train of thoughts 
to any reasonable length; since the subject is no less prolific, 
than evincive of the distempered condition of the world we live 
in. But all that I further intend, is to remark, in few words, on 
shame — understood not in the sense here given it by the poet, 
as synonymous with dishonor or disgrace ; but as denoting a cer- 
tain kind of bosom sensation, utterly indescribable, and yet most 
clearly distinguishable from every other feeling of the heart. 

Shame then, meaning the sense of shame, is one of the power- 
ful principles of our fallen nature ; and, like our other natural 
principles, it does good or mischief according to the direction it 
takes. It operates most powerfully in the seasons of childhood 
and youth, and effects on the whole much more good than ill : 
for it is a preventive of indecency, and an incentive to laudable 
emulation. An over- diffident youth, if properly encouraged, will 
exert himself to arrive at such attainments as shall give him 
confidence; but an over-confident one, being full of himself, thinks 
he has attained enough already, and of course bcomes remiss. 
I believe it would be found, upon a close inspection of mankind 
in past ages as well as the present, that of truly great and excel- 
lent characters, a very large proportion had felt the pains of diffi- 
dence, and displayed upon their cheeks the blush of shame in 
their juvenile days. 
12 



266 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 

The most virtuous do nothing to be ashamed of before men, and 
the most vicious are without shame. But between the utmost 
limits of human virtuousness on the one side, and viciousness on 
the other, there is a vast interval which is filled up with mixed 
characters of both sorts ; and upon them well directed shame has 
a great and powerful influence. — " Many who have not resolution 
enough to avoid a bad action, have yet feeling enough to be 
ashamed of it." And that feeling of shame may prevent their 
repeating the misdeed ; whereas, of an offender who is utterly 
shameless, there is no hope. 

Shame has a prodigious influence in enforcing the laws of de- 
cency. Multitudes of people would not act as well as they do, 
if they were not ashamed to act worse. And it is better at least 
for society, that they have the grace of shame than no grace at 
all. 

Yice loves the company of its like. And why ? It is that 
it may keep itself in countenance, or escape the confusion of 
shame. Vice is conscious deformity; and vicious persons are 
enabled to hold up their heads in society, chiefly from the know- 
ledge or supposal that numbers about them are deformed like 
themselves. Whereas, if one stood quite alone in the practice 
of vice, and at the same time had the eyes of the good upon him, 
he would, unless desperately hardened, be ashamed of himself. 
Hence, a notoriously vicious person, living in a place where all 
the rest were virtuous, would be impelled, as it were, of very 
shame, either to amend his ways, or to remove to a more conge- 
nial society. In short, the benefits of shame are alike great in 
number and in magnitude ; so far forth, that it is questionable 
whether, in the society of civilized man, there be not more persons 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 267 

who act decently from the sense or fear of shame, than from the 
impulse of a sound moral principle. 

This matter was well understood by the sophists of the last 
age, who in the war they waged against Prejudice, — or rather in 
their nefarious efforts to banish from society not only pure morals 
but even the common decencies of life, — artfully directed their 
efforts particularly at the total extinction of the feeling of shame. 
And for some time their success corresponded to their zeal. It 
is a recorded fact, that, during the short-lived popularity of the 
writings of Mary Wolstoncraft, a blush incurred a penalty at 
several of the boarding schools for young ladies in England. 

Here two things are to be observed very carefully in the 
training of children. 

1st. Their natural sense of shame should not be put to trial too 
frequently, or too severely. u Shame," says Mr. Locke, " is in 
children a delicate principle, which a bad management of them 
presently extinguishes. If you shame them for every trespass, and 
especially if you do it before company, you will make them shame- 
less. Moreover, if you expose them to excessive shame for their 
greater faults, they will be very likely to lose all shame, and if once 
lost it is gone irrecoverably. By tampering with this feeling too 
often or with a rough hand, children the most susceptible of 
shame, may be made quite callous to its influence." 

2d. Children should be guarded betimes against false shame, 
which, in all its multifarious ramifications, and, oftentimes, in the 
name and under the disguise of honor, has done frightful mis- 
chiefs to our misjudging and deluded race. 



268 THE BRIEF EEMAEKER 



NUMBER LXIII. 

OF YIETUOUS POYEETT. 

" Man needs but little here below, 
Nor needs that little long. 1 ' 

And yet to possess but little, though it be fall enough for the 
real wants of nature, is deemed wretchedness. Poverty is to 
many a delicate ear one of the most frightful words in the whole 
vocabulary of our language ; but it should be remembered that 
the word has several degrees of signification, and is really fright- 
ful in the extreme degree only. 

True enough, the rags and filth, and the corresponding igno- 
rance and depravity, so common in the abodes of squalid poverty, 
are objects of disgust and horror ; as thej exhibit human nature 
in its utmost deformity, without aught to shade the picture. The 
lazy poor, the vicious and profligate poor, compose a mass of 
wretchedness that is frightful indeed, and not only frightful, but 
loathsome ; and but little pity can be felt for the suffering 
which they bring upon themselves by their idle and vicious 
habits. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 269 

This is not, however, simple poverty, but poverty and the 
grossness of vice in alliance ; and it is the latter that gives the 
former its hideous coloring. Virtuous poverty, on the other 
hand, however disrespected by a scornful world, is, in sober truth, 
respectable. It has a moral gracefulness that is peculiarly its 
own. 

It is not in the splendor of wealth, or on the lap of ease, that 
man, considered as a moral being, usually exhibits the finest fea- 
tures of character. For the highest order of virtues can be de- 
veloped only in a condition of considerable hardships or suffer- 
ing ; — namely, the virtues of fortitude,*self-denial, patience, hu- 
mility, and quiet resignation. A family, that once had seen bet- 
ter days, struggling with misfortune, suffering " the rich man's 
contumely," and the neglect and scorn of former familiars, but 
suffering with fortitude and with pious resignation : a family 
always poor and accustomed to endure hardships, but of pure 
morals, industrious, honest, unrepining, contented, dail}^ offering up 
thanks to God for that little which it enjoys ; a father, a mother, 
oppressed with poverty, yet striving with all the little means in 
their power to send their children to school, and at the same time, 
both by precept and example, training them up at home, in the 
way they should go; — these, to the moral ken, are among the 
most lovely spectacles that are ever exhibited in this fallen 
world. True, these humble virtues are like the flowers that 
"blush unseen." They are scarcely noticed, and much less ad- 
mired; while thousands greet with admiration and applause, 
whatever of shining virtue the eye can descry in the ranks of 
wealth and grandeur. 

The Eev. G. Crabbe, " the poet of reality, and of reality in 



270 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

low life," has portrayed with masterly powers of description both 
vicious and virtuous poverty — not from fancy, but from what he 
saw, and knew. If the images of depravity in his poem, The Bo- 
rough, be too coarse, too naked, and too hideous, to excite other 
emotions than those of disgust, — the images of virtue, which, 
also, were taken from the deepest shades of poverty, possess al- 
most unrivalled charms. The tale, for instance, of the Sad 
Girl, a poor maid of the Borough, who, after waiting a long time 
in anxious expectation of the return of the young sailor who had 
promised to marry her, at length received him emaciated and 
mortally sick, and nursed him day and night with the utmost 
tenderness, till he breathed his last : — this tale, in point of heart- 
moving interest, perhaps has scarcely a rival in the history even 
of romance and fiction. 

The following few lines of it show how venerable, how sacred, 
how lovely is the cottage of the poor when adorned with virtue 
and pure religion. 

" Still long she nurs'd him ; tender thoughts meantime 
Were interchang'd, and hopes and views sublime ; 
To her he came to die, and every day 
She took some portion of the dread away ; 
With him she pray'd, to him his Bible read, 
Sooth'd the faint heart, and held the aching head : 
She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer ; 
Apart she sigh'd ; alone, she shed the tear ; 
Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave 
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave." 

Blessed indeed are such poor ! and of such the number is, in all 
probability, far greater than is generally imagined ; the virtuous 
deeds and heavenly dispositions of the obscure children of poverty 
being very little known or noticed, save by the Omniscient eye. 



ON THE WAYS OF KAN. 271 



NUMBER LXIV. 



OF FBIVOLITY OF CHAEACTEE. 



There are of both sexes a number of volatile persons, who bear 
a near resemblance to the little playsorne birds that skip perpe- 
tually from bush to bush. Their attention is never fixed ; their 
thoughts run upon every thing by turns, and stay upon nothing 
long. In conversation they are unsettled and flight}- ; when 
they read, " they gallop through a book like a child looking for 
pictures." 

Characters of this sort abound in the upper regions of life, 
among those who have been badly educated, and have nothing to 
do ; and by a celebrated writer they are admirably hit off in the 
following pictorial sketch of Vetusta. 

u She is to be again dressed fine, and keep her visiting day ; 
again to change the color of her clothes, again to have a new head, 
and again to put patches on her face. She is again to see who 
acts best at the playhouse, and who sings finest at the opera. 
She is again to make ten visits in a day, and be ten times in a 
day trying to talk artfully, easily, and politely about nothing. 



272 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

She is again to be delighted with some new fashion, and again 
angry at the change of some old one. She is again to be at 
cards and gaming at midnight, and again in bed at noon. She 
is to be again pleased with hypocritical compliments, and again 
disturbed at imaginary affronts. She is to be again pleased at her 
good luck at gaming, and again tormented with the loss of her 
money. She is again to prepare herself for a birthnight, and 
again to see the town full of company. She is again to hear the 
cabals and intrigues of the town ; again to have secret intelligence 
of private amours, and early notices of marriages, quarrels, and 
partings." 

Such is the description of an elderly fashionable lady, of the 
London stamp ; a description which, under the fictitious name of 
a single individual, was meant to embrace a large class. 

Nor is it only in the regions of fashion and high life, that fri- 
volity of character is seen ; though there it has the strongest 
stimulants, and the most ample means of displaying itself. For- 
tunate are they, on whom is imposed the salutary necessity of 
doing something valuable with their existence ; whose daily oc- 
cupations, as well as worldly circumstances, withhold them from 
an imitation of those called the great, but who by their frivolous 
pursuits, render themselves least among the little. 

A flighty, frivolous turn of mind, is owing partly to nature, 
partly to education, and partly to habit. 

Every body that is observant, must have seen that some 
children are more sedate, and others more volatile : and that 
the latter, during their infantile years, are peculiarly pleasing 
for their pert vivacity. They perform childish things in the 
most engaging manner. And not in childhood only do they 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 273 

gratify and please ; in the following stage of early youth there is 
a charm in the vivaciousness of their temper, which we are apt 
to mistake for the germ of genius. But the expectation is often 
disappointed at the period of mature age. There is then found 
a gay surface, but no depth ; a high-fed fancy, but a lank under- 
standing and feeble judgment. The man, even the aged man. is 
still as volatile, still as fond of little sports and of little things, 
still as boyish, as when he was a boy. 

The fruit of age is generally corresponding to the education 
of childhood. Education goes far, very far, in determining and 
fixiDg characters : and of none more than of young minds re- 
markably vivacious. Though a more than ordinary degree of 
vivacity, in the early years of life, affords no sure promise of su- 
perior strength of understanding, neither is it to be interpreted, 
on the other hand, as a sign that the understanding will be 
weak; for it sometimes is an accompaniment of great and 
shining parts. But in either case, the management of children 
of this description is a matter of peculiar delicacy. If prudent 
care be taken to curb and regulate, without extinguishing, the 
vivacity of their tempers; if their attention be directed betimes 
to things most important and serious ; if the solid parts of edu- 
cation be well wrought into their minds ; — in such cases, although, 
at last, they should turn out to be but merely of moderate 
abilities, yet they would stand a fair chance of being not only use- 
ful, but peculiarly agreeable members of society. Contrariwise, 
if their education be conducted, as too often it happens, in a 
manner calculated to nourish and confirm the volatile bias of 
their nature, there will be very little hope of their future re- 
spectability or usefulness. For should they have talents never so 
12* 



274 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

bright, the chances are ten to one that they will misemploy them. 
Or, on the other hand, if their understandings prove but slender, 
they will be always children in manners and behavior ; — pert, 
lively, frolicksome children, with hoary heads, and spectacles on 
the nose. 

" Habit is second nature." Especially when habit is super- 
added to the strong bias of nature, it is the hardest thing in the 
world to overcome it. And thus it happens that children of 
more than common liveliness of temper, so seldom learn to li put 
away childish things," when they come to be full grown men and 
women. Permitted to spend their early days in little else than 
trifles, the habit of trifling becomes firmly rooted, and triflers 
they continue to be throughout the whole of their lives. The 
same volatileness, which made them so pleasing in their child- 
hood, renders them shiftless, worthless, and of small repute, 
ever after. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 275 



NUMBER LXV. 

OF THE NATUEAL AND THE MOEAL HEAET. 

" Thy own things, and such as are grown up with thee, thou canst not know. 1 ' 

To obtain conviction of the truth of this observation of Esdras, 
the Jewish sage, we need look only to that part of our own sys- 
tem, called the heart. Both the material and the moral heart 
of man are of mysterious and wonderful construction ; too deep 
to be fathomed by the line of philosophy, and too intricate to be 
explored by human ken. 

In regard to the material heart, as stated in Keil's Anatomy, 
" each ventricle of the heart will at least contain one ounce of 
blood. The heart contracts four thousand times in one hour ; 
from which it follows, that there passes through the heart, every 
hour, four thousand ounces, or three hundred and fifty pounds of 
blood. Now the whole mass of blood (in a common-sized hu- 
man body) is said to be about twenty-five pounds ; so that a 
quantity of blood equal to the whole mass of blood passes through 
the heart fourteen times in one hour ; which is about once in 
every four minutes." 



276 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 

Dr. Paley upon this stupendous subject, says, " The heart is 
so complex in its mechanism, so delicate in many of its parts. 
as seemingly to be little durable, and always liable to derange- 
ment ; yet shall this wonderful machine go, night and day, for 
eighty years together ; at the rate of a hundred thousand strokes 
every twenty-four hours, having, at every stroke, a great resist- 
ance to overcome ; and shall continue this action this length of 
time, without disorder, and without weariness. 

It is a fact worthy of notice, that in this wonderful piece of 
mechanism, there is, as it were, the power of repelling the med- 
dlesome eye of curiosity ; since, whilst we are in sound health, 
the mighty labor that is perpetually going on in the little labora- 
tory within, gives us no sort of disquietude, so long as we pay 
no close attention to the process ; but no sooner does one con- 
template it with close and undivided attention, than unpleasant 
and almost insupportable sensations check his impertinent inqui- 
sitiveness. Perhaps no one living would be able to fix his whole 
mind, for the space of a single minute, upon the pulsations of his 
own heart, without experiencing sensations of indescribable un- 
easiness. 

All this is wonderful. — " A mighty maze, but not without a 
-planP Who, that takes a sober view of the mechanism of his 
own heart, can say in that very heart, There is no God ! 

Nor is the moral heart of man less wonderful than the mate- 
rial. It is remarkable that this too, as well as the natural heart, 
is repulsive to careful and strict scrutiny. It is one of the most 
difficult of performances, for one to scrutinize the moral frame 
and operations of one's own heart with a steadfast and impartial 
eye ; the difficulty principally consisting in a violent aversion to 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 2(7 

that kind of scrutiny, and the irksomeness of the process. And 
hence it is, that a great many persons know less of their own 
hearts, considered in a moral point of view, than of any thing else 
with which they are in a considerable degree conversant. Par- 
tial as we always are to our own understandings, and to our in- 
tellectual powers in general, we judge of them with a great deal 
more uprightness and truth than we do of our hearts. The 
defects of the former we perceive, and own ; but those of the lat- 
ter we conceal as much as possible, not only from others, but from 
ourselves ; and are mightily offended when the finger even of a 
friend points them out to us. 

As the heart is the source of the affections and the volitions, 
so it is the seat of all real beauty and of all real deformity be- 
longing to man or woman. By its qualities, and by no standard 
else, is the worth or the vileness of every human character to be 
determined. No splendor of talent, no brilliancy of action, even 
on virtue's side, can countervail the want of rightness of heart. 
Hence, while we are bound to judge others to be virtuous, in so 
far as they appear so from the tenor of their overt acts ; we must 
look deeper, far deeper, in forming a judgment upon ourselves. 

In choosing a wife, a husband, or any familiar and bosom friend, 
the first consideration is to be had to the qualities of the heart ; 
for if those be vile, no intellectual excellence can give promise of 
good. A man or a woman, either bad-hearted or heartless, how- 
ever gifted with intellect, or furnished with accomplishments, is 
not one that will brighten the chain of friendship, or smooth the 
path of life. 

The heart that gravitates the wrong way, draws the under- 
standing along with it ; blinding, perverting, and duping that 



278 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

noble faculty ; so that it judges of a thing, not according to what 
it really is, but according to the feeling and inclination of its 
treacherous adviser. This makes it so difficult for one to deter- 
mine right in one's own cause. 

It is no less melancholy than true, that, in general, we take 
infinitely less pains to improve our hearts, than to improve our 
understandings. Yet no point is clearer than that the improve- 
ment of the intellectual faculties can turn to no good account, 
without a corresponding improvement of the moral faculties. 

Again, in educating children, the least degree of pains is 
usually taken with their hearts. It is not their moral education 
that is so much attended to ; the body and the mind are too 
generally made the chief subjects of tuition, and not the heart, 
the temper, the moral frame. The vast superiority of the Chris- 
tian morality over the best part of the morality of the wisest pa- 
gans, consists very materially in this, that the former embraces 
the views, motives and feelings of the heart, whereas the latter 
regards the outward act only. Socrates taught some things ex- 
cellent in themselves, but his system reached only the surface of 
morality. It was for the Divine Teacher, alone, to inculcate 
moral duties upon true principles, by prescribing the cleansing 
of the fountain, as not only the best and the shortest, but as the 
only way to purify the streams. 

A word on sensibility. No quality, especially in female cha- 
racter, is so much praised, admired, and loved ; and for that rea- 
son, no quality is so often counterfeited. And what is it ? 
Not the susceptible temperament, which feels only for self or 
for one's own. — Not that sickly sensibility, which so enervates 
the mind, that it yields to even the lightest wind of adversity. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 279 

— Not that mock-sensibility, which weeps over a fictitious tale of 
woe. but has no sympathy for the real woes of life. No. These, 
and various others that might be named, are of the spurious 
brood. Genuine sensibility — that sensibility which is indeed so 
estimable and lovely — is a moral quality ; of which it would be 
difficult to find a better definition, than is given in the following 
admirable lines of the poet, Gray. 

" Teach me to love and to forgive ; 
Exact my own defects to scan ; 
What others are to feel ; and know myself a man." 

Extraordinary sensibility, under the guidance of sound dis- 
cretion, is the source of noble virtues; but if discretion is want- 
ing, it may be the source of lamentable errors and faults. "We 
are rational, as well as sentient beings, and our sensibilities, how- 
ever genuine and generous, will lead us astray, if they are at va- 
riance with the sober dictates of the understanding. 



280 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER LXVI. 



OF MOEAL EDT7CATIOX, 



Few subjects have employed a greater number of tongues and 
pens than that of education, and yet few subjects are so generally 
misunderstood. Most admit the importance of education, and 
are forward to laud it, though, perhaps, scarcely one in twenty 
is sensible of the full meaning of the term. 

Education, in the common or popular acceptation, is made to 
mean mere learning. So that, when people talk of education, 
they generally understand by it little or nothing else than teach- 
ing children reading, writing, orthography, grammar, arithmetic, 
and so on : and when they have got these, and whatever else of 
learning is taught in the schools, they are accounted %vell edu- 
cated, and it is thought to be altogether their own fault if they 
fail to act well their part upon the stage of life. Often it is 
said that such and such youths have an excellent education, 
when nothing farther is intended by it than that they have been 
accurately taught in the rudiments of what is called learning. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 281 

But that learning is not the whole of education, or even the 
most essential part of it, is a truth evinced by the divine testi- 
mony concerning Abraham, which here follows : " I know him. 
that he will command his children and his household after him 
to do justice and judgment." 

Abraham, one of the greatest and best of the race of Adam, 
was, perhaps, of all men the most careful to train up his children 
in the way they should go ; and his unequalled care in that 
respect, was the means of entailing distinguishing blessings upon 
his posterity. Yet, till several ages and centuries after Abra- 
ham's day, nothing that we call learning, had existence in the 
world. There were no writers or readers : not even the letters 
of the alphabet were known by anybody living. 

What has been said above, is by no means meant to depreci- 
ate learning, which is to be regarded as one of the choicest of 
human blessings ; far more to be valued than treasures of gold 
and silver. Indeed, we can hardly be sufficiently thankful that 
we live in an age, so far exceeding all former times in the facil- 
ity of the means of imparting learning to the rising generation, 
and for zealous co-operations to diffuse it among all classes of 
society. A happy prospect will this open, provided the means 
be directed to the right end. Otherwise, giving children learn- 
ing makes them wise but to do evil ; for the increase of faculty 
effected by learning, will be turned to good or ill, to benefit 
or mischief, according to the direction it receives in the early 
years of life. 

Now, as learning only supplies ability, the great thing is to 
turn that ability to good account ; to prevent its running into 
mischief, and to incline it toward things that are excellent. 



282 THE BKIEF REMAKKER 

For what though one had all the learning of the schools ? So 
much the worse would it be for himself and for society, if his 
inclination led him to make a vile use of it. Though a man have 
all knowledge, if he have not sound moral principle with it, he 
is the more dangerous and pestilent in proportion to his superior 
advantages and faculties. 

Every day's experience gives proof of this. The fraternity 
of forgers, swindlers, and cheats, so numerous and formidable 
at the present instant, consists, for the most part, of men of 
good education, as far as mere learning is regarded. Of that 
they have more than an equal share. But their early moral 
education having been neglected, their learning is a curse to 
themselves and to all about them. T7ho would not choose that 
his son should rather never learn to write, than be tempted 
and led by means of his adroitness in penmanship, to the com- 
mission of felonious deeds, that would fix him in " durance 
vile" for years or for life ? And who can reasonably expect that 
the learning given his children, will not be abused to their 
own shame, and to the shame of their kindred, unless he takes 
at least as much pains to shape aright their moral frame, as in 
their intellectual training 1 

Moral education, without which there is nothing of literature 
or of science that is not liable to be perverted to the worst pur- 
poses, is to be begun from the cradle. The first step is to teach 
the infantile subject implicit obedience to parental authority; 
aud then to rule with such moderation and sweetness, that it 
shali entirely trust and love the hand that guides it. In this 
way, the good impressions made upon the young mind are likely 
to be indelible, and there is ground to hope that the moral and 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 283 

religious instructions you instil, will sink deep in the heart. 
Nor is it precept alone that will suffice. Though " precept upon 
precept " be given children, and their memories be stored with 
moral and religious lore of the purest kind, it will be of little 
avail, except a corresponding example be daily presented before 
their eyes. 

" It is well known to the students in ornithology, that the 
younglings of singing birds listen to the old ones, and carefully 
learn their notes." And this propensity to imitation is no less 
obvious in children. Like those little birds, they are prone to 
mimic whatever is done or said in their presence, and especially 
the ways and manners of their parents and instructors. So that 
the example set before them by those who have the care of their 
education, together with that of their young companions, has, of 
all human means, perhaps, the greatest influence in forming and 
fixing their characters for life. 

In closing this subject, I will venture to throw out a few hints 
on a particular, to which has been paid far less attention than it 
obviously deserves. 

The education of our youth should be adapted to the nature 
of our government. A free people, whose rulers by election 
proceed from themselves, have virtues to maintain as well as 
rights to defend ; and unless they pay assiduous attention to the 
former, they must inevitably lose the latter : the only sure 
foundation of their liberty being an enlightened morality per- 
vading the general mass. Nor is this alL In educating the 
rising generation, which will soon succeed to the present busy 
occupants of the stage, besides teaching them useful learning in 
such measures as their various conditions and occupations may 



284 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

require, and besides the careful inculcation of religion and 
morality, which is the elixir of life to a community : there 
should be woven into their principles and habits, the republican 
virtues of industry, economy, and frugality, together with prac- 
tical patriotism ; the patriotism, which consists in the assiduous 
discharge of all the social duties ; which venerates our repub- 
lican institutions, and makes the public good its paramount 
object ; — a patriotism which the female part of the community 
are capable of cherishing and promoting in a superlative degree 
by their united influences and examples. 

Though human nature is radically the same every where> the 
varying modes and customs of different nations give it a diversi- 
fied appearance : pomp and grandeur are the natural appendages 
of monarchy, while simplicity or plainness is a natural charac- 
teristic of a free republic, which ever assimilates to monarchy in 
proportion as it apes its manners, and arrays itself in its trap- 
pings. It is, therefore, of no small importance that our customs, 
manners, and habits, be congruous with the genius of our politi- 
cal institutions, or that there be a distinct national 'ness in the 
American character ; and this can be effected only by a general 
system of education, possessing, in certain respects, republican 
peculiarities. 

Such was the manner of Athens and Sparta ; whose youth, 
however, in one most important respect, were incomparably less 
privileged than ours, who, not left to nature's light alone, have 
an unerring guide in the Star of Bethlehem — who are blest with 
a system of religion and morals, which, wrought into the hearts 
and practice of the general community, would contribute, more 
than all other means, to exalt its condition and secure its freedom. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 285 

It may be laid down as a maxim, which should be engraven 
in the minds both of the rulers and the people, that the strong- 
est bulwark of liberty is moral force, consisting in the united 
influences of knowledge and virtue. 



286 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEE LXVII. 



OF THE POWER OF THE IMAGINATION OYER YOUXG MINDS INSTANCED 

IN GEORGE HOPEWELL. 



The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
"While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.*' 

Shakespeaee. 



In the season of youth especially, the imagination often runs 
away with the judgment. A young man gifted with a warm im- 
agination, but whose judgment is immature for want of expe- 
rience, views things through a deceptious perspective. His 
throbbing head teems with flattering visions. Every thing that 
may turn to his own favor he takes for granted, and every un- 
toward incident, on the contrary, that may chance to thwart and 
disappoint him, he leaves out of his calculations. A bold adven- 
turer in the lottery of life, he feels quite sure of drawing a prize ; 
and his too great confidence is the very means of turning him up 
a blank. For as, on the one hand, it prevents that care and cir- 
cumspection in business which is necessary to success ; so, on the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 287 

other hand, it leads him to square his expenses, not to his real 
circumstances, but to his visionary prospects. 

George Hopewell, a goodly youth, took in a decent cargo of 
ideas for the voyage of life, but forgot to take with him a single 
idea of meeting with adverse winds and with misadventures. He 
was neither a simpleton nor an ignoramus. An honest heart had 
he, and a brain rather fertile than barren. He was weak in one 
particular only : — he was inclined to believe every thing that he 
found written in the chronicles of the imagination. In short, 
none was more skilful in building aerial castles ; an art which, 
though it always gives pleasure to the artist, very seldom brings 
him any profit. 

Thus equipped with mental stores, and furnished also with 
some cash, Hopewell begins business. He begins on a large 
scale, and naturally enough ; for who, with a warm and pregnant 
imagination, could bear to be occupied with small things ? His 
great stock in trade, the most of which, by far, he had taken on 

credit, he now views with rapture. — "AH this is worth , and its 

profits from the first turn will increase to the sum of . Well, 

I can turn it seven times in seven years, and shall then be worth 
full thirty thousand dollars clear to myself." Hopewell, so rich 
in prospective funds, feels as if he had this wealth all in hand, 
and comes quite up to the reasonable expenses of a man already 
worth thirty thousand dollars. 

A worm may penetrate and sink a ship as effectually as the 
ball of a cannon. Hopewell met with no uncommon gust of ad- 
versity. Nothing did he lose by fire or water, and not much by 
bad debts ; yet his circumstances grew more and more narrow 
year by year, till, in less than seven years, he became insolvent to 



288 THE BKIEF REMARKEB 

a considerable amount. All this was owing, or principally owing 
to one single circumstance, — living upon prospects, his outgoes 
constantly exceeded his incomes. If, instead of being led away 
by the sorceress Imagination, he had all along conformed his 
management and the expenses of his living to his real circumstan- 
ces, he might have had, if not wealth, at least competence. Many 
a promising and fine young man has been upset, by carrying more 
sail than his bark and his ballast could bear. 

And here permit me to offer a serious caution against running 
rashly and deeply in debt, — a ruinous imprudence, to which all 
the numerous, and in some respects respectable, family of the 
Hopewelh, are exceedingly prone. 

It is no new remark, and yet not the worse for wear, that 
multitudes are undone as to their worldly affairs, by viewing 
things at a distance. 

It is thus the inconsiderate and sanguine deceive themselves, 
when they contract heavy debts. Viewing the thing at a dis- 
tance — at a distance of time — they view it in a false mirror. 

In the days of our youth, and as to many of us even up to the 
days of our old age, we are apt to feel as if we should be abun- 
dantly able to pay a debt six months or a twelvemonth hence. 
Imagination furnishes us with ways and means in abundance in 
aftertimes, though we have none for the present. Only give us 
a long pay-day, and we can do this, or we can do that. But the 
wheel of time presently brings round the six months, or the twelve- 
month, or the yet longer period. It vanishes like a dream : and 
the debtor, failing in his calculations, if he calculated at all, is 
quite as unable to pay as he was at the instant the contract was 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 289 

made. He is now in the hands of his creditor, who can spare 
him or ruin him. as he pleases. 

Running in debt is a serious business, which, if proper cau- 
tion be wanting, jeopards not only property, but character also. 
Of those, who have been adventurous and rash in this respect, 
how many have been utterly ruined in estate ? How many 
have forfeited the character for truth and integrity, to which 
they were once fairly entitled ? How 7 many, prompted by the 
violent temptations arising out of their embarrassed circumstan- 
ces, have acted in a manner astonishing to all who knew them in 
their better days ? 

Credit, so invaluable to all who are in any reputable kind of 
business, and especially to those who have little else to depend 
upon, is of a delicate and frail nature : it must be used with 
moderation, or it languishes and dies. A man disposed at all 
times to extend his credit as far as he possibly can, or to take up 
all the credit he can get, has many chances to one of being a 
bankrupt in credit as well as in circumstances. 

A word to spirited young men : — a word that will apply fully 
as well to a great many who are not young. 

If credit, long credit be offered you — pause awhile ere you 
swallow the bait. Consider the thing on all sides, and in all its 
bearings — its mischances as well as its chances. — Credit, long 
credit, with interest. With interest I "There's the rub." 
This same interest is a devourer : it eats like a canker. 



13 



290 THE BRIEF REMARKED 



NUMBER LXVIII. 

OF THE FOUL NATUBE AND DIREFUL EFFECTS OF CUSTOMAEY GAMIXG* 

The Play at Cards, which at the first was used for mere amuse- 
ment, no sooner was adopted by avarice than it turned to be 
gaming ; — and through this transmutation of its nature as well 
as name, it has proved one of the greatest scourges of the com- 
munity, every where, in all the four quarters of the world. 

Avarice is a mother-sin, of whose numerous brood Gaming 
is the most haggard and wretched ; for however abundant be its 
prey, it never thrives. It devours innumerable fatlings, and yet 
remains ever lean itself. There is a curse upon its basket and 
store ; a curse that blights its gains, and turns its enjoyments to 
wormwood and gall. Neither is this to be wondered at, when 
we consider the objects of gaming : the principles of the art ; 
and the certain and necessary consequences of the practice or 
habit. 

"The main object of the gamester, is to acquire wealth by 
plunder, without regard to the age, or sex, or circumstances of 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 291 

any who fall into his toils. For it makes no difference whether 
the victim be a stranger or a familiar acquaintance, a man of age 
and experience or a stripling, an alien from his blood or his own 
mother's son. 

Gamesters by profession, are a migratory tribe, as strongly 
marked with peculiarities as the gypsies. They have a jargon 
that is all their own ; a jargon which, interlarded with oaths and 
blasphemies, is in common use at their board. Also, they have 
a kind of police belonging exclusively to themselves. Other 
men form themselves into distinct bodies, for valuable and noble 
purposes ; some for the improvement of the individual members ; 
some for the furtherance of the arts and sciences ; and some for 
the promotion of the holy cause of religion and morality, and 
particularly of charity : and all these have by-laws and regula- 
tions corresponding to the worthiness of the ends in view. 
So, also, gamesters have a code of laws — the laws of the 
table — perfectly corresponding, in the main, to the base ends 
they aim at. But it may be said, and indeed it has been said 
that the laws of the gaming room prohibit foul play, under the 
penalty of expulsion ; that a considerable portion of gamesters 
are men of rank, and of a delicate sense of honor — men who 
would sooner lose their heart's blood than trespass upon the rules 
of the game. Be it so. The question then arises, What is fold 
jjlay ? Its meaning, I believe, is pretty much confined to direct 
fraud, or downright cheating in the management of the cards. 
This touches the honor, and the moral sense, forsooth, of game- 
sters : so that the delinquent, if his fraud be manifest, falls under 
the general reprobation, and is no longer considered fit for the 
company of gentlemen. On the other hand, what is fair play* 



292 THE RRIEF REMARKER 

Assuredly it has a marvellous latitude of meaning. For accord- 
ing to the casuistry of even the most upright and honorable game- 
sters, •' Every advantage may be legitimately taken of the young, 
the unwary, and the inebriated, which superior coolness, skill, 
address, and activity can supply." Yes, the gamester may in- 
veigle the unwary youth to the table, and artfully lead him on, 
step by step, till he has stripped him of his whole patrimony; 
or he may secretly help to intoxicate a fellow player, and, taking 
advantage of his inebriation, instantly plunge him into a condition 
of wretchedness and ruin — he may do all this, and much more, 
and yet be considered as a fair gamester, a gentleman of honor ! 

The dreadful consequences of gaming are too numerous to 
be told in a short essay, and some of them are too obvious to need 
it. I touch not upon the most awful part of the subject — the 
hopeless death of the unrepenting gamester, and the peculiar 
terribleness of his audit. Nor will the narrow limits I have 
prescribed to myself, permit me to detail the deplorable conse- 
quences that this practice brings after it upon society at large. 
I will only mention, therefore, some instances of the harm which 
gamesters inevitably bring upon themselves in the present life : 
meaning this for the special benefit of those, who are but on the 
threshold of the practice. 

" Every amiable propensity in the heart of man, every endearing 
tie, every sacred pledge, every honorable feeling, are set aside 
and forgotten when gaming takes possession of the human mind." 
This is not said at random ; it is the voice of truth and expe- 
rience, and has been exemplified in innumerable instances. And 
yet the danger is neither seen nor apprehended by the young 
beginner. Many a youth of fair promise enters upon the career 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 293 

of gaming more out of thoughtlessness than viciousness. Not 
aware of the fraud with which the system is implicated, nor of 
the train of bad propensities that necessarily enter into the com- 
position of a gamester, he steps into the fatal path without inten- 
tion of pursuing it far, and without fear of being lost in its 
labyrinths. But presently the leprosy seizes him, and the plague 
of it overspreads his whole mind and heart. His love of gaming 
increases alike, whether he gains or loses. It fixes, and as it 
were fascinates his whole attention ; so that every thing else is neg- 
lected. The company he keeps, the language he hears, the 
scenes of depredation he daily witnesses, poison within him the 
source of moral feeling. The jealousy, the rage, the revenge, in- 
cidental to the employ in which he is engaged, generate a fero- 
city of temper. He is lost to all that is good, and prepared for 
every evil. He who, by habits of industry, might have been of 
competent wealth ; he who might have been the source of joy 
and felicity to an amiable wife, and the father of children that 
would have blessed his memory : he who might have been an 
ornament to society, and an honor to the family of man, is 
at last a vagabond — as destitute of property as of principle — the 
grief and shame of his kindred — despised of the world, and a 
burden to himself. 



294 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER LXIX. 

OF THE ALMOST INSUPERABLE POWER OF HABIT. 

The Brazilians had been so long and so generally inured to the 
abominable practice of eating human flesh, that the Christian 
missionaries found it less difficult to reform them of any other of 
their evil practices than of this. The chief joy of these savages 
was in their cannibal feasts ; the women and the children, as well 
as the men, partaking of them with delight ; insomuch that noth- 
ing was harder of cure, than this unnatural appetite. 

Mr. Southey, in his history of Brazil, relates a story of the 
following tenor. No very long time after the Portuguese had 
obtained possession of Brazil, a Jesuit undertook to Christianize 
a Brazilian woman of great age. He catechized her, he instruct- 
ed her, as he conceived, in the nature of Christianity. Finding 
her at the point of death, he began to inquire whether there was 
any kind of food which she could take. — " Grandam," said he 
(that being the word of courtesy by which it was usual to address 
old women), u if I were to get you a little sugar now, or a mouth- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 295 

ful of some of our nice things which we get from beyond the sea, 
do you think you could eat it ? " — " Ah, my grandson." replied the 
old woman, " my stomach goes against everything. There is 
but one thing which I think I could touch. If I had the little 
hand of a little tajyua boy^ I think I could pick the little bones ; 
— but woe is me, there is no one to go out and shoot one for me /'■ 

As this extraordinary morsel of history corroborates an observa- 
tion not unfrequently made, that with some of the pagans, among 
whom Christian missionaries have labored, cannibalism had been 
found the most incurable of any of their vices ; at the same time, 
it strikingly exemplifies generally the almost incurable nature 
of inveterate, vicious habits. It is a counterpart to that portion 
of inspiration, which represents it as extremely difficult, and next 
to impossible, for one that is accustomed to do evil to learn to do 
well. 

It is a proverbial saying, that habit is second nature ; meaning, 
I conceive, that whatever of taste, appetite, inclination, or affec- 
tion, we acquire by habit, becomes as natural to us as if it were 
born with us. This is a thing obvious to general experience and 
observation. But there is one other thing near akin to it, which 
though not quite so obvious, is perhaps equally true. It is this : 
the second nature, that has grown out of evil habits, cleaves to 
us, in some degree, as long as we live, and that, notwithstanding 
principles of real piety at heart. 

It is freely admitted that the grandam, whose strange story 
has just been rehearsed, was merely a nominal Christian, and but 
very imperfectly instructed in even the doctrinal knowledge of 
our holy religion. But suppose the reverse of this : suppose 
she had become a Christian indeed. What then ? No doubt she 



296 THE BRIEF HEMARKER 

would have abhorred the idea of shooting a tapua boy, that she 
might pick the little bones of his little hand. No doubt she would 
have abhorred cannibalism as a monstrous crime. But it is not 
quite so certain that her appetite would at all times have been 
entirely free from hankerings after the unnatural food to which 
she had been so long accustomed, and which, of all things, was 
the most delicious to her taste. 

The truth is, any one who contracts bad habits, admits into 
his garrison inveterate and restless foes, whom he can never en- 
tirely expel. Sometimes he may seem to get a complete mas- 
tery of them, when, of a sudden, they muster anew their rebel- 
lious forces, and quite overpower him. Or even though, by the 
force of moral and religious principle, along with ever-wakeful 
vigilance, he keep under these foes, yet they give him incessant 
alarm, inquietude and vexation. They are the torment of his 
life, and embitter his last moments. In many a virtuous bosom 
there is a hard struggle between principle and propensity ; between 
a deep sense of duty, morality, and religion, and the violence of 
appetites and passions that had been nourished by habit till they 
were grown up to gigantic strength. A struggle, in which 
though virtue gain the victory, it is gained at the expense of pains 
which are neither few nor small — of pains comparable to those 
occasioned by cutting off a hand, or plucking out an eye. So true 
is it that vicious habits are either our rum and destruction, or, at 
the best, will be a plague to us, however much we may wish and 
strive to uproot them utterly from our minds and hearts. 

It was with reference to the almost invincible force of habit, 
that the wise man penned the aphorisms so worthy to be put in 
letters of gold, and hung up in the mansion of every rising family : 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 297 

— *' Train up a child in the way he should go ; and when he is 
old he will not depart from it." Upon the same principle of the 
power of habit, if, reversing the aphorism, you train up your 
child in the way he should not go ; if you countenance his faults : 
if you encourage rather than check his vice; there are many 
chances to one, that shame and ruin will be his portion. But 
though this is clearly the voice of truth and experience, yet many 
infatuated parents lull themselves in the expectation that the 
faults of their children will be cured by time : a notion no less 
fatal than it is false. Indeed, time may, perchance, correct the 
errors of inexperience, or the mere follies of childhood and im- 
mature youth ; but not immoralities — not real viciousness of 
disposition and action — not falsehood, fraud, profaneness, profli- 
gacy, or any real vice that can be named. Diseases of the mind, 
like those of the body, usually become the more inveterate by 
time. Time ripens the inceptive evil into habit ; and time again 
strengthens and confirms the incipient habit. Every day adds 
somewhat to its strength : every new indulgence gives it a firmer 
root ; and it incorporates itself at last with the very fibres of 
the heart. 

Seethe knurly oak, which no arm of flesh'can bend; which 
nothing but the bolt of heaven can rive : — this same oak was once 
a pliant twig. 

Guard, then, with utmost care — let parents guard their chil- 
dren, and let all those of the young, who have come to years of 
discretion, guani themselves— -against the inceptive ingress of 
any and every vicious habit : for- — 

" AYhen the fox has once £ot in his nose. 



He soon finds means to make his body enter." 
13* 



298 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER LXX, 



OF THE W0ELD. 



Two English poets, of eminent but very unequal genius, are 
diametrically in opposition to one another in their descriptions of 
the same great object — The World. The following lines of Mil- 
ton, give only the bright side of the picture. 

" Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth 
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand ; 
Covering the earth with odors, fruits, and flocks, 
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, 
But all to please and sate the curious taste, 
And give unbounded pleasure unto man ? " 

On the contrary, the disappointed Dr. Young, contemplating 
the world through the spleen and gloom of his own humor, de- 
scribes it as an abode altogether dismal. 

"A part, how small, of this terraqueous globe 
Is tenanted by man ! The rest a waste, 
Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands, 
Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings and death! 
Such is earth's melancholy map ! " 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 299 

A melancholy map, indeed ; but, thank God, not the true 
one. 

There are some who seem to make it a point of conscience to 
speak disparagingly of the world they live in, as if they thought 
it was honoring the Maker to despise his workmanship. True 
enough, it is an evil world ; and why ? It is not so of itself, but 
by reason of the evilness of the race of moral beings that inhabit 
it. It is the moral, rather than the natural map of the world, 
that is unamiable and hideous. 

The original frame of the world was good : a commodious, 
beautiful and superb mansion, altogether fit for the abode of an or- 
der of sinless creatures, compounded of the rational and the 
animal natures. And notwithstanding the frightful change it 
underwent by means of the apostacy, it is still in itself a good 
world ; that is to say, it is a building well adapted to the condi- 
tion of the guilty tenants — l ' prisoners of hope" — who are des- 
tined to pass a short residence in it. What though the " thorn 
and the thistle," the noxious weed and the prickly brier, grow up 
spontaneously, whilst plants and trees that are good for food, 
must be cultivated with great care and toil ? And what though 
man is impelled to eat his bread in the sweat of his face, and to 
be daily mustering up the resources of his mind and body in or- 
der to reduce stubborn matter to his use and convenience ? All 
this is entirely befitting his present condition, — to wit, the de- 
pravation of his affections, appetites and passions, and his state 
of trial : it precludes the possibility of general idleness, which 
would render him more vicious by many degrees than he is now. 
What though crosses and disappointments, sickness and sorrow, 
are common to the lot of man, and there is such an emptiness or de- 



300 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

ficiency in even the best of his enjoyments, that not a single in- 
dividual of the whole race is in all respects happy ? These very 
evils are preventives of moral evil. Through the divine influ- 
ence, in a thousand instances they curb our passions, humanize 
our dispositions, and bring our minds to a right state of recollec- 
tion, and to new and better purposes of action. And finally, 
what though, while worldly enjoyments are ever mixed with alloy 
and are ever unsatisfactory, life itself is frail and fleeting? 
"What though death is daily mowing down his thousands and tens 
of thousands without distinction of age or degree ? Awful as is 
this law of mortality, and clearly evincive as it is of original 
transgression, it is a dispensation of which there is a moral ne- 
cessity. If men were in this world immortal, or held their lives 
upon a secure lease for hundreds of years, in all probability a great 
proportion of them would extend their transgressions far beyond 
the present bounds of human depravity. The consciousness of 
the shortness and brittleness of life, bridles in avarice and ambi- 
tion. The fear of death is a strong curb upon appetite and 
passion. Death breaks in pieces gigantic schemes of oppression, 
delivers the world from unfeeling oppressors, scatters abroad the 
unrighteous hoards of avaricious worldlings, and is the great hum- 
bler of upstart pride and arrogance. 

It is, I repeat, the moral condition and conduct of the tenant, 
that mars the beauty and poisons the comforts of the tenement. 
The promised '* new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness," would 
be no unhappy world, even with the physical form and properties 
of the one we inhabit. 

Were the heavens above as black as sackcloth, or glaring 
with light of a frightful hue, and were the earth beneath us pre- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 301 

senting to our senses nothing but objects of disgust and horror ; 
then, indeed, the world would correspond with the rueful de- 
scriptions which querulous genius has given of it. Then, in- 
deed, the following lines of poetry would possess no less truth 
than beauty. 

" For ah ! what is there of inferior birth, 
That breathes, or creeps upon the dust of earth, 
What wretched creature, of what wretched kind, 
Than man more weak, calamitous and blind?" 

But the truth is, though fallen man is weak, and blind, and 
sinful, yet his earthly condition, so far from being calamitous be- 
yond that of all other creatures, is attended with a great many 
circumstances of comfort and delight. 

The earth, even in its present state, is filled with the good- 
ness of the beneficent Creator ; and Man is the object of his es- 
pecial care and bounty. Is it nothing that, above and around 
lis, light and colors, with their corresponding shades, are infinite- 
ly diversified, to soothe and gratify the eye ? That we are fur- 
nished with such sweet and melodious sounds to charm the ear ? 
That the earth affords such a variety to delight the palate ? 
That it is decked with the enamel of innumerable flowers of varied 
colors and delicious fragrance? That by a nice admixture of its 
different elements, the atmosphere is so exactly fitted for respira- 
tion ? That the silk-worm spins to adorn, the sheep bears a 
fleece to warm, and the ground itself yields the rudiments of fine 
linen to array our frail bodies ? That, in all parts of the world, 
there is furnished a supply of medicaments for the particular 
diseases of the climates ? That fire, air, and water, along with 



302 THE BKIEF REMARKER 

a great variety of minerals, are made, in so many wa} T s, to minis- 
ter to the convenience and adornment, as well as to the subsist- 
ence of our race ? Is all this aggregate of earthly benefits and 
blessings to be accounted as nothing ? Shall man, loaded as he 
is with so many unmerited temporal blessings, complain and fret 
because they are mixed with natural evil ? Especially shall be 
do it, when a full moiety of the calamities he suffers, are brought 
upon him, not by the direct hand of Providence, but by his own 
follies and crimes ? 

To love the world more than Him who made it, and life more 
than Him who gave it, is that worldly mindedness which is base 
•and criminal. But a moderate or subordinate love of the world, 
of life, and of all its innocent enjoyments, along with lively 
gratitude to their donor, is what becomes our rational and moral 
nature. Whereas, on the other hand, to think or speak contemp- 
tuously of the common gifts of Providence, betokens as little of 
humility as of thankfulness. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 303 



NUMBER LXXI. 

OF THE IXQUISITIYEXESS OF OHILDEEN. 

One of the distinctive qualities of our nature is the principle of 
curiosity ; whereby we are distinguishable even more clearly than 
by the principle of reason from the brute animals, of which sev- 
eral kinds seem possessed of some small degree of rational faculty, 
but very seldom, or never, manifest an inquisitive curiosity after 
any kind of information. Whereas, in our own species, the dis- 
position to pry into the Hoiv, and the Why. is sometimes seen 
from the very cradle, and is always to be regarded as an auspicious 
token ; it being, in fact, the germin of all future improvement — 
the genuine bud of intellectual fruit. Nor scarcely is it conceiv- 
able, how great advantage might be taken of such a toward dis- 
position, were it under the constant management of superior skill 
united with patient industry. But in the nurture and training 
up of children, this important particular is, for the most part, 
overlooked, and their early curiosity either damped or misdirect- 
ed. And, in this way, many are made dullards or frivolous, who 
might ave been shaped to intellectual excellence. 



304 THE BRIEF REMARKEll 

"Curiosity in children," observes the admirable Locke. " is 
but an appetite after knowledge, and therefore ought to be en- 
couraged in them, not only as a good sign, but as the great instru- 
ment nature has provided to remove that ignorance they are born 
with • and which, without this busy inquisitiveness, will make 
them dull and useless creatures." 

The passage here quoted, is a text, which might furnish mat- 
ter enough for a long practical discourse on education. But my 
design is only to throw out hints, to be improved and enlarged 
upon by the intelligent reader. 

Were we ourselves cast upon a strange country, where every 
thing was unknown to us, and were we destined to spend our lives 
there, our only way of acquiring the knowledge of it, would be by 
questioning the experienced inhabitants. Accordingly, if not 
downright dolts, we should feel disposed to ask them a multitude 
of questions, of which the most part would seem frivolous, imper- 
tinent, and even ridiculous, to those who" knew the country well. 
Now should they all, with one accord, refuse to answer our ques- 
tions, or turn us off with false or improper answers, or laugh us 
to scorn for our ignorance and impertinence, and even proceed 
to chide us, with contumelious expressions, for the interruption 
and trouble given them by our inquisitiveness ; such treatment 
would naturally damp and discourage us, and involve us at last 
in the hopeless condition of contented ignorance. 

But should we find there only a few to heed our inquiries ; to 
give patient and correct answers to our questions : to encourage our 
curiosity by the gentleness of their manners and the readiness of 
their replies ; how deeply should we feel ourselves indebted to 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 305 

those precious few, and how happily facilitated would be our pro- 
gress ! 

And such as this, but yet more eminently so, is the condi- 
tion of little children. Not merely are they strangers in a strange 
land ; they are come into a world, where to them every thing is 
new and strange ; a world, of which, and of all therein, they are 
utterly ignorant. And how do these newly-born citizens of the 
world act ? Why, just as persons come to years would act un- 
der the like circumstances. God hath given them an appetite for 
knowledge, and they seek after it with ardency. What is this ? 
What is that made for? How is it done, and why is it so 7 
These, and scores of similar questions are asked in early 
childhood ; and though they would be impertinent and ridiculous 
if coming from the lips of adult age, yet from the mouths of 
these little prattlers they are strictly proper. To them the in- 
formation they inquire after is material, though their questions 
may seem trifling in the eyes of those to whom the things were 
long since known. 

A great deal might be made out of the inquisitiveness or 
curiosity so natural to children. If rightl} 7 managed, it would be 
the mainspring to intellectual improvement. Were their inquiries 
properly encouraged, it would lead them to think for themselves ; 
it would put them upon the exercise of their reason, as well as of 
their memory ; and would settle in them the habit of inquiry. 
At the same time, whenever there was observable in them a for- 
ward pertness, or any real impertinence, it might easily be checked, 
without dampening their curiosity, by parents or teachers pos- 
sessing any considerable degree of prudence and skill. 

P>ut all this requires a considerable degree of toil. It is by 



306 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



m 



ucli the easier way, barely to give the child a lesson to learn 
by heart, and whip him if his memory fail, than to aid in enlight- 
ening and enlarging the infantile faculties of his understanding. 
And so, we generally take this easier way. We stop their little 
mouths, when they presume to interrupt, or puzzle us, with their 
questions, and instead of encouraging them to start subjects of 
themselves, we confine them to our own prescriptions. We 
pinion the young mind, and then bid it soar. 

Some parents, observing carefully the old proverb, to " nip 
in the bud," indignantly rebuke the inquisitiveness of their chil- 
dren, as insufferable impertinence. And sure enough, such chil- 
dren are effectually nipt in the bud ; for it is ten to one that they 
will never become men and women of inquiring minds. Others, 
again, turn off the questions of their children with false answers, 
and thereby directly lead them to the practice of lying. I have 
seen fathers so stately and stern, that their children scarcely durst 
speak to them, and much less familiarly question them. And I 
have seen schoolmasters, who would requite the familiar questions 
of a little pupil with a frightening frown, if not with a hard 
blow. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 307 



NUMBER LXXII. 

OF THE INFLUENCE OF EARLY IMPRESSIONS UPON ALL THE FOLLOWING 

PERIODS OF LIFE. 

Mr. Locke, in his invaluable treatise concerning Education, re- 
lates the story which here follows. 

" There was in a town in the West, a man of disturbed brain, 
whom the boys used to teaze, when he came in their way. This 
fellow, one day seeing in the streets one of those lads that used 
to vex him, stepped into a cutler's shop he was near, and there 
seizing on a naked sword, made after the boy, who, seeing him 
coming so armed, betook himself to his feet, and ran for his life, 
and, by good luck, had strength and heels enough to reach his 
father's house before the madman could get up to him. The 
door was only latched ; and when he had the latch in his hand, 
he turned about his head to see how near his pursuer was, who 
was in the entrance of the porch, with his sword up, ready to 
strike, and he had just time to get in and clap to the door, to 
avoid the blow, which, though his body escaped, his mind did not. 
This frightening idea made so deep an impression there, that it 
lasted many years, if not all his life after ; for, telling this story 



308 THE BRIEF EEMAEKLE 

when he was a man, he said, that after that time till then, he 
never went in at that door (that he could remember) at any time, 
without looking back, whatever business he had in his head, or 
how little soever, before he came thither, he thought of this mad- 
man." 

This instance, though a most extraordinary one. is rather so 
in degree than in kind ; for thousands have been haunted, all 
their lifetime, with frightening ideas received in childhood. 

I will venture to lay it down as a position at least probable, 
that the children of Adam's race are born into the world very 
much alike, excepting the rare instances of idiotism. Their 
faculties and inclinations are nearly the same, and the differences 
which appear in after-times, are owing, in a great measure, to the 
instruction they receive, the company they keep, and the manner 
in which they are managed. This assumption is, I humbly con- 
ceive, fully defensible on the broad ground of reason and experi- 
ence, and too obvious to escape general observation. But it is 
far less obvious, though equally true, that early impressions con- 
tribute very materially to make the difference in human characters 
— relative to their tastes, their dispositions, and the bent of their 
faculties. 

Whilst the infant is yet cradled in the mother's arms, long 
ere it can articulate words, it is beginning to receive impressions, 
w T hich will influence, more or less, the future periods of life. 
And though we know not in what precise degrees such early im- 
pressions operate ; how far their opposites render some irascible, 
revengeful, or sullen, and others mild, well-tempered, and social; 
how far they contribute to the firmness of the future character on 
the one hand, and to a cowardly timidity on the other : yet it is 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 309 

beyond all reasonable doubt, that their influence is great and 
durable. The Arabs of the Great Desert, have all a sameness 
of character among themselves, together with striking points of 
difference from every other class of mankind : and their character 
has been all along the same, from the time of the patriarch 
Jacob to the present day. Nor is it altogether unaccountable, 
though truly wonderful. For they have all. always, been used 
to the same scenery, and derived their earliest, as well as their 
later impressions from the same objects and sources. Now, 
were it possible to reverse the conditions of two newly born 
infants — the one an Arab, and the other of good Christian 
parentage — by placing each in the family of the other ; it is full 
likely that the latter, when come to years, would be altogether 
an Ishmaelite in feeling and manners, and the former considera- 
bly assimilated to the family that adopted him. Nay, there 
will be no great hazard in saying farther — It is full likely that 
this assimilation would begin to be visible in each, antecedently 
to any direct and positive education ; that the one would take 
the stamp of the fierce and furious-looking mother, while at her 
breast ; and that the other, at the same early period, would 
begin to be oppositely moulded from impressions occasioned by 
the mildness and sweetness of maternal care. 

A simple metrical verse learnt in infancy, is clearly remem- 
bered for scores of years. And much more ; early incidents 
occasioning horror, terror, distressing shame, or violent indigna- 
tion, leave such deep and distinct impressions upon the memory 
as are seldom, or never, effaced entirely. I am told by a re- 
spectable, pious woman, advanced very far in age, that even now 
as all along heretofore, she seldom shuts her eyes for sleep but 



310 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

she is haunted with the horrible spectres, as it were, of the 
savage Indians, who murdered her father and mother before her 
face when she was a little child. How great must have been the 
whole amount of her sufferings from that circumstance, during the 
long space of upwards of sixty years ! 

And neither few nor small, throughout the whole course of 
their lives, must have been their sufferings, whose infantile minds 
had been accustomed to the frightening bugbears of superstition. 
For even though, in riper years, their reason should convince 
them never so clearly of the absurdity of such fears, yet the 
impress upon the imagination is indelible. Times have been, 
when stories of witchcraft, of spectres in the dark, and especially 
about the sepulchres of the dead, were commonly reported and 
fully believed ; when a candle burning blue was the sign of a 
spirit in the house ; when the tallow rising up against the wick 
of the candle, was styled a winding-sheet, and reckoned an omen 
of death in the family ; and when a coal in the shape of a coffin, 
flying out of the fire toward any particular person, betokened 
that the death of that person was near. — With what labor and 
pains did they weave for themselves, and for their children, the 
web of misery ! In those ages of gloomy superstition, which 
even now are but recently past away, the real ills of life were far 
exceeded by the imaginary ones. 

But to return from this digression : children possessed of a 
more than common susceptibility of shame, may be injured for 
life by putting that distressful feeling to a too severe trial ; and 
others may be made shameless by shaming them too often ; 
while a temper naturally stiff and unyielding, may be made re- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 311 

vengeful, and desperately malignant, by impressions of injustice 
and cruelty experienced in the season of childhood. 

In families, and in schools, where almost the popish inquisi- 
tion is practised upon the children ; where they are compelled 
to confess unproved and unprovable faults, and sometimes made, 
by the torture of the whip or ferule, to confess faults of which 
they are not guilty ; — how pernicious are the impressions left 
upon their minds, which ever after will rankle in their memories ! 
And so again, when children, by bad management at first, are 
made disgusted with their learning, seldom, and not without 
great difficulty, can they be brought to love it heartily there- 
after. 



312 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER LXXIII. 

OF CALAMITOUS EEYEESES IN EESPECT TO WOELDLY CIECUMSTANOES. 

" Think how frail 
And full of danger is the life of man, 
Now prosperous, now adverse ; who feels no ills 
Should therefore fear them ; and when fortune smiles 
Be doubly cautious, lest destruction come 

Remorseless on him." 

Sophocles. 

In this free, commercial, speculating and money-loving country, 
the wheel of fortune is turning up blanks and prizes alternately; 
some families decaying and sinking, and others rising to wealth ; 
the griefs of the former greatly overbalancing the real joys of 
the latter. 

One of the bitterest calamities of life, is the sudden fall from 
affluence, or competence, to poverty. Not that what ws call 
poverty, is so very distressing of itself. In some countries, it 
implies a privation of the indispensable necessaries of life, or the 
sufferance of hunger and nakedness : but here, few are so poor that, 
with prudent care and assiduous industry, they may not provide 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 313 

themselves with wholesome food and comfortable raiment. Mul- 
titudes, in this country, of the poorest classes, are neither the 
least contented, nor the least happy. Unaccustomed to the 
elegancies and luxuries of life, they feel no hankering after them : 
and accustomed to earn their bread by their toil, they regard 
labor as no hardship. It procures them two very essential en- 
joyments — keen appetite and sound sleep ; and with respect to 
real and heartfelt jovialness, they very often have more than an 
equal share. 

That degree of poverty, which includes not in it the pinching 
want of real necessaries wounds the mind alone: and it often 
deeply wounds the minds of those who have fallen from easy and 
plentiful circumstances. To them it is an evil indeed. A com- 
parison of the past with the present, renders the present irksome 
to them, if not intolerable. The real or imaginary neglects they 
experience in society, and from even their former familiars, plant, 
as it were, thorns in their hearts. Time wears away, however, 
the pungency of first impressions. There is (and the goodness 
of the Creator is clearly manifested in it), as it were, a principle 
of elasticity in the minds of human beings, which enables them 
to recover themselves when crushed down by the shocks of ad- 
versity, and to accommodate, after a while, their feelings to their 
circumstances with marvellous facility. But far above and be- 
yond this, the balm that Eeligion furnishes has the never-failing 
virtue of removing the corrosions of the heart, occasioned by 
worldly misfortunes. 

No human prudence can always secure its subject from dis- 
astrous reverses in worldly circumstances. In times of old. 
11 there came a great wind from the wilderness, and smote the 
14 



314 THE BRIEF EEMARKEK 

four corners of the house," in which the sons and daughters of 
the man of the East — as distinguished for benevolence and 
charity as for wealth — " were eating, and drinking wine.-' In a 
single hour, his vast substance, and the natural heirs to it, were 
all swept from him. And recent experience teaches that, in 
America as well as in Asia, a great wind may destroy in a single 
hour, what many years of painful industry had accumulated. 
The most flattering condition of worldly prosperity is sometimes 
found to be like the smoothness of the surface of the waters, in 
their approximation to a cataract. 

But though it is not in the power of prudence to secure 
earthly possessions in all cases, yet often, and for the most 
part, they are lost by imprudence. It ought to be held in gen- 
eral remembrance, lt that nothing will supply the want of pru- 
dence ; that negligence and irregularity, long continued," will 
sink both fortune and character, and that if there be but little 
moral good in worldly prudence, there is a great deal of moral 
evil in imprudence, or in such wastefulness and improvidence 
as not only lead to want and wretchedness, but often to the 
ruin or deep injury of creditors. 

If we take a careful survey of American society, I believe 
we shall find, that the greater part of the families who have ex- 
perienced a distressing reverse in their circumstances, owe it 
to one or other of the three following causes : the inheritance 
of wealth — the greediness of wealth — or the affectation of 
wealth. 

" Riches certainly make themselves wings ; they fly away." 
Now these wings, as of an eagle, that bear away riches from the 
places of their wonted residence, it is worthy of particular no- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 315 

tice, are such as naturally grow out of riches ; they are wings 
which riches make themselves ; — they are idleness, wastefuln 
improvidence, and prodigality ; all of which a very large pro- 
portion of the children of wealth inherit, along with their 
estates. 

A great many fall into poverty, not for lack of industry, but 
from inordinate greediness of wealth. " They make haste to be 
rich." Scorning the secure competence they already possess, or 
which is fairly within their reach, they put it to risk upon the 
precarious contingency of suddenly attaining the condition of op- 
ulence. Impatient of slow gains, the fruits of regular industry, 
they dash into hazardous enterprises. If unsuccessful — and they 
have more than an even chance to be so — they are presently 
ruined : or if brilliant success attend their steps for awhile, so 
that they heap up riches in sudden abundance ; this run of good 
luck expands their hopes and desires, and they plunge anew into 
still deeper speculations, till, unexpectedly, the fallacious ground 
on which they stand cleaves from under them, and their for- 
tunes are all swallowed up. 

If the two great destroyers, which I have just mentioned, 
have devoured their thousands, the one that is yet to be mentioned 
has devoured its ten thousands. The heritors of overgrown wealth 
are but few : and though there are very many greedy and rash 
adventurers, yet their numbers bear no proportion to the numbers 
of those who are ruining their circumstances by an absurd, and 
a pitiful affectation of wealth. This last is in economics, what 
consumption is among bodily distempers, the most common and 
fatal disease of all. The affectation of wealth, or the vanity of 
making a show beyond our condition, in apparel, in the elegan- 



316 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

cies of the table, in furniture, and in every thing else that is 
thought likely to attract attention and admiration, is the con- 
suming Plague that has already destroyed, and which is even 
now destroying, the earthly substance and comforts of innumera- 
ble families who, but for this disease, might rank with the hap- 
piest of mankind. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 317 



NUMBER LXXIV. 

OF THE ATTENTION DUE BOTH TO MIND AND BODY. 

" To hold the Golden mean — 
To keep the end in view, and follow nature." 

The union of an eminent degree of moral, intellectual, and liti- 
rary endowments, with such bodily activity as is common among 
the savage tribes, would form a singular but a very desirable 
character. The wild man of the woods can run as fast as the 
four-footed animals with which he associates ; and sometimes, it 
is said, runs them down, and seizes them as his prey. A 
savage who depends upon his bow, has not the swiftness of the 
wild man. yet he can walk, or amble along, seventy or eighty 
miles a day, and thirty or forty miles upon a stretch. One cannot 
help observing a peculiar dignity and gracefulness in the gait of 
our American Indians, particularly in that of the chiefs of their 
tribes. They go forward with a firm step, their body kept in a 
straight line, their head erect, and seem to move with as much ease 
as a boat in a fair wind. Strength, agility, and hardiness of body, 
together with courage, being with them the highest point of per- 



318 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

fection, the whole course of their education has a bearing towards 
this end. They live in the open air. and exercise and repose 
themselves alternately, and so as to give suppleness to their joints, 
and ease and nimbleness to their motions. 

Mr. Bartram, in his account of the Lower Creeks, a tribe of 
Indians inhabiting East and West Florida, says : — :; On one hand 
you see among them troops of boys : some shooting with the 
bow, some enjoying one kind of diversion, and some another: on 
the other hand are seen bevies of girls, wandering through orange 
groves, and over fields and meadows, gathering flowers and berries 
in their baskets, or lolling under the shades of flowery trees, or 
chasing one another in sport, and striving to paint each other's 
faces with the juice of their berries." 

These Creeks, I would venture to presume, resemble consid- 
erably the ancient Greeks, about the time they instituted their 
celebrated games, consisting of running, wrestling, boxing, &c. ; 
which are often alluded to in the writings of St. Paul. In the 
Heroic, or rather in the Barbarous ages of Greece, that people was 
little, if any, better informed or more civilized than our American 
Creeks. Their first object, in the education of their children, was 
to inspire them with courage, and give them strength, agility, 
swiftness, and all the other bodily perfections ; so that they might 
be able to defend their liberties, and the independence of their 
respective tribes. After a while they were smit with the love of 
learning, and Greece became finally the fountain of literature, and 
even spread the arts and sciences over Italy ; whence at last they 
were diffused throughout Europe. But the Greeks still kept up 
their games, and all their customary exercises of body : and they 
are the only people upon history, who have taken much care and 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 319 

pains to make the improvements of body and mind keep an even 
pace together. Their circumstances were peculiarly favorable to 
this ; since, as to labor, it was all done by their slaves. 

Amongst modern civilized nations, the great masses of the 
people follow daily labor for a livelihood ; and among these again, 
the tillers of the ground stand in the foremost rank. They, 
living in the open air, and using exercises which expand the 
chest and brace the nerves and muscles, acquire an uncommon 
degree of hardiness and vigor of body ; yet, by reason of the in- 
tensity of their toils, they soon lose that jauntiness of limbs, 
that ease of motion, that nimbleness of gait, which the savage 
retains even to old age. Laborers in the mechanical arts have 
more or less bodily activity, generally, according to the nature 
of their occupations. Those trades which require a sedentary 
life, a seclusion from the air, and a curved posture of body which 
compresses the lungs, as well as those that expose the artificers to 
poisonous effluvia, tend to bring on weakness and disease, and 
oftentimes hasten death. 

The wealthy part of mankind, whose circumstances free them 
from the necessity of constant, drudging toil, might, one would 
think, rise superior to others in proportion to their superior 
advantages. But how rarely is it so in fact. Their luxury and 
debauchery poison both mind and body ; insomuch, that where 
vast possessions are vested unalienably in certain families, as in 
some parts of Europe, most of those enormously wealthy families, 
in the course of ages, dwindle down to a race of pigmies, in com- 
parison with whom the savage holds- an enviable rank. The sav- 
age state, and the state of luxurious refinement, are the two 
extremes ; between which, somewhere, there lies a point that is 



320 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

most favorable to the happiness of man. and to the general devel- 
opment of his faculties. 

The learned might have the best chance to unite in themselves 
bodily and mental excellencies, if prudent care were early be- 
gun and constantly continued. If there were used frequent ex- 
ercise in the open air, both at the commencement and through- 
out the whole course of a life of study ; if study and exercise were 
alternate, at short intervals, the body would retain its vigor- 
ous tone, the mind would be relieved, and the progress of 
learning would be promoted rather than retarded. But this is 
often reversed in practice. Observe a scholar that has just left 
the occupations of agriculture ; observe his ruddy countenance 
and florid health. Observe the same scholar two or three years 
after : see his dim eye, his faded cheek, his emaciated body, the 
debility of his whole frame ! And what has wrought this mel- 
ancholy change ? — Continued mental exercises, without corres- 
ponding exercises of the body. He has been a hard student, 
and has treasured up Greek, and Latin, and Algebra, and Lo- 
gic ; but for want of frequent intervals of exercise in the open 
air, the juices of his body have corrupted, like the water in a 
standing pool. 

"We are compound beings, consisting of physical and of men- 
tal parts and faculties. It is a most desirable thing to have 
"a sound mind in a sound body;" and, therefore, whilst the 
principal attention is to be paid to intellectual, moral, and reli- 
gious improvements, there is no small attention due also to the 
health, soundness, and agility of the corporeal part of our nature. 



ON THE WAYS OIT MAN. 321 



NUMBER LXXV. 

OF THE GENEEAL PE ONENESS TO PETTY SCANDAL. 

As if there were not prattle enough from human tongues, a great 
deal of care is taken to teach birds to talk. Some families of 
opulence and rank are said to have devoted a considerable por- 
tion of their time to the advancement of this species of education : 
nor would it be altogether time lost, if they would mind to teach 
their birds a few sound and pithy maxims for domestic use, and 
the benefit of their visitors. 

The following anecdote I will cite as an example, for the 
purpose of showing to what good account the lingo of speaking 
birds might be turned, if their education were conducted either 
on moral principles, or upon principles of domestic economy. In 
the city of London, as Goldsmith informs us, two men, living 
directly opposite to one another, in the same street, had a quarrel 
together, on account of the one having informed against the 
other for not paying the duties on his liquors ; and the aggrieved 
party, after teaching his parrot to repeat the ninth commandment, 
14* 



322 THE BRIEF KEMAEKER 

placed the cage at the front of his house ; so that, whenever the 
informer on the opposite side of the street stepped out of his own 
door, he heard from the parrot this admonition, Thou shalt not bear 
false witness against thy neighbor. 

This sacred precept is to be understood as possessing a very 
wide latitude of meaning : comprehending not only perjury and 
gross calumny, which are both punishable by civil law, but also 
evil speaking, in all its multifarious shapes and degrees. It is 
obvious to remark^ that although the prohibitory precepts in the 
eighth article and the ninth of the holy decalogue, are both levelled 
against evils that are alike prejudicial and pernicious to society, 
yet the laws of society take much more concern in the one than 
in the other. Every well-regulated civil society arms itself 
against theft, and metes out punishments as well to petty pil 
ferers as to the highway robber ; and yet the violations of the 
next succeeding article of divine prohibition pass, for the most 
part, without punishment, and almost without notice. Not but 
that money is trash, in comparison with character; so that he 
who steals the one, does far less injury than he who wounds the 
other. But the fact is, civil law is quite incompetent to the task 
of taking cognizance of the violations of the ninth commandment, 
save m a few instances of flagrant enormity. 

The trespasses of the tongue, in this way, are so innumerable, 
so diverse, and ofttimen so artful, that no legislator could clas- 
sify them, and much less enact laws that would reach them 
wholly, without destroying the liberty of speech altogether. 
And, besides, there is in society a great deal less averseness to 
evil speaking than to theft. If one have his money or his goods 
stolen, he no sooner makes it known, than his neighbors join with 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 323 

him in searching for the thief, who, if found and convicted, is 
sure to be punished ; because common zeal, as well as common 
consent, takes side against the culprit. But the pilferers from 
character fare less hard ; or rather, they are tolerated, provided 
the)" manage with art and. address, and mingle some wit with 
their malice or their levit) r . 

And as petty violations of this part of the decalogue meet 
with impunity, so also they meet with encouragement. Few are 
altogether without envy, which ever takes delight in a back- 
biting or detracting tongue. Few are without some conscious 
and visible faults ; and the faulty are naturally prone to take 
pleasure in the noticeable faults of others, as they tend to quiet 
them about their own. From these causes, and still oftener, per- 
haps, from thoughtless levity, encouragement is given almost 
every where to the small dealers in detraction, who, altogether, 
compose a pretty numerous body. 

It requires no great stretch of charity to believe, that there 
are many persons who never have been guilty of any dishonest 
action, and much less of downright theft. But it is to be appre- 
hended that there are very few indeed, who have never, in all 
their lives, borne false icitness against a neighbor , in some de- 
gree or manner, either by unwarrantably spreading ill reports, or 
else by giving too willing an ear to slander and defamation. It 
is the evil that most easily besets us, of which we are least 
apt to be aware ; and which many men and women practise without 
compunction, and almost without thought, although apparently 
of estimable characters in other respects. 

Sempronia is such a very fury in the cause of virtue and 
decorum, that, first or last, nearly the whole sisterhood of her 



324 THE BRIEF REMARKEB 

acquaintance has been lampooned by her tongue. So far from 
showing partiality to her own sex, nothing heats her temper, and 
throws her into a fit of boiling rage, like the faults of women. 
Not to mention the abhorrence with which she ever speaks of the 
wretched victims of seduction, she is. of purer eyes than to be 
hold, in a female especially, even the least aberration from the 
path of propriety, without emotions of indignation and expres- 
sions of reproach. Frugal of praise, and liberal of censure, she 
speaks but little of those whose characters furnish no topics for 
scandal ; whilst all her eloquence is employed in expatiating on 
faults, frailties, and follies. The truth of it is, there are very 
few whose garments are so white that she can discover on them 
no spots ; and it is on the spots, rather than the fair parts, that 
she fixes her attention and bestows her remarks. 

Yet, after all, Sempronia is remarkably perpendicular in 
much of her conduct. Not for the world would she tell a down- 
right, wilful lie. She means to speak the truth, and nothing else ; 
but the truth she spices with a vengeance. Sour in nature, elated 
with an extravagant opinion of herself, jealous of qualities that 
threaten to eclipse her, and thinking her own excellencies will 
show to the best advantage by displaying them in contrast with 
the foibles of other women, she no sooner finds that a female 
acquaintance has spoken or acted a little awry, than her passions 
are let loose, and she talks herself into a sore throat. In the 
meanwhile, she mistakes her fastidiousness of humor for delicacy 
of taste, and her censorious, irritable temper, for extreme sensi- 
bility. 

Were one to admit the old absurd notion of our being born 
under some particular planet or constellation, one could hardly 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 325 

help exclaiming : " What a pity that the birth of Sempronia, a 
woman of some very respectable qualities, instead of the constel- 
lation of the Crab, had not been under the sweet infiuences of 
Pleiades V 

In an old Asiatic tradition it is storied, that while Adam 
and Eve were iu the blissful bowers of Eden, there were sent 
down to them twelve baskets of chit chat, which was scattered 
about the garden : that Adam, being in a thoughtful mood, and 
neglecting to exert himself in season, gathered up the contents 
of only three, while his fair partner nimbly collected, and care- 
fully laid away for her use, the whole of the other nine ; and 
that, by natural consequence, the stock of small talk belonging 
to women is, in proportion to that of men, as three to one. 

This tradition, though apocryphal, is not unapt ; women 
have naturally a greater volubility of tongue than men ; whether 
that their organs of speech are more flexible, or that their animal 
spirits are more volatile, they begin to speak at an earlier age, 
and are more generally fluent in conversation. They have, be- 
sides, a more ample fund of small talk, which, so far from being 
any defect or blemish, is a real boon, bequeathed to them for sev- 
eral valuable and obvious purposes. But, though good in its 
kind, it has an aptness to the evil of petty scandal; an evil, 
that cannot be too carefully guarded against in female educa- 
tion. 

It would be passing no imposition upon a young miss at 
school, to tell her, along with more solemn dehortations, that the 
feelings and dispositions from which spring calumny and back- 
biting, would deform her face. For what is that beauty in the 
female face which pleases all beholders ? It consists chiefly in 



326 THE BRIEF REMAEKEE 

the aspect that indicates good affections. Every indication of 
candor, gentleness, and benignity, is a beauty : on the contrary, 
every feature, or aspect of countenance, that indicates pride, 
envy, or malignity, is a deformity. Nor does it need proof that 
in frequent instances, the face becomes at length the index of 
the passions which one habitually harbors, whether they be of 
the benevolent or the malignant kind. 

One remark more, and no trifling one ; there scarcely can be 
a more attractive feature in the character of a woman, than her 
veiling, or treating with a sisterly candor, those petty blem- 
ishes in her female acquaintance, from which she is happily 
exempt herself. 



ON THE WAY.- OF MAX. 327 



XOIBEE LXXYI 

OF EXJ0Y1XG INDEPENDENCE AS TO WORLDLY CIRCTJM8TANOES WITHOUT 

POSSESSING WEALTH. 

Independence in regard to worldly condition, is an object of 
rational desire and laudable pursuit. But the word. Indepen- 
dence^ must here be understood in a qualified and very limited 
sense. Strictly speaking, no man living is independent. For not 
to mention, that all depend alike on Him in whom we live and 
have our being : there is amongst mankind a matual dependence, 
from the lowest even up to the highest point in the scale of 
society : so that the rich man needs his poor but industrious 
neighbors well ni^h as much as they need him. Should thev re- 
fuse to sell him their labor, he would be fain to drudge for him- 
self, notwithstanding the vastness of his wealth. This mutual 
dependence is a salutary restraint both upon the rich and the 
poor : it curbs the pride of the one, and the envy of the other ; 
and even tends to link them together in mutual amity. 

Moreover, that independence of circumstances, which should 
be made the object of general desire and pursuit, does in no wise 



328 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

imply large possessions. So far otherwise, one possessed of but 
barely competent means of support, provided lie lives within his 
means, is hardly less independent than if he were in the enjoy- 
ment of a fortune. Does the possessor of an ample fortune enjoy 
personal independence ? So also does the possessor of a small 
farm, which furnishes him with only the necessaries of life : and 
so also does the useful laborer, whose labor affords a supply to 
his real wants. But if the small farmer must needs be a man 
of fashion or pleasure, he loses his farm, and withal his indepen- 
dence. Or if the laborer neglects his calling, or spends faster 
than he earns, his independence is quickly gone. Nay, even 
though the laborer should support himself independently 
throughout all the days of his health and vigor, yet, assuredly, 
he must fall into a condition of dependence at last, unless he 
have the foresight and prudence to lay up some part of his earn- 
ings against the seasons of sickness and old aa*e. 

" Our views in life,'' says the celebrated British Junius, 
" should be directed to a solid, however moderate independence; 
for without it no man can be happy, nor even honest." 

This sentiment has in it, however, as I humbly conceive, 
some mixture of error. Yirtuousness of disposition depends not 
upon exterior circumstances. In the deepest shades of poverty, 
and even in situations of abject dependence, there are persons 
not only very honest but very pious, and who are happy in the 
daily enjoyment of the banquet of contentment. There are 
those, and not a few, in almost every part of the Christianized 
world, of whom the following lines, in a Scotch ballad, are no 
less descriptive, than of the happy old couple, in whose mouths 
they are put. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 32 ( J 

" We have lived all our lifetime contented, 
Since the day we became first acquainted ; 
True, we've been but poor, 
And we are so to this hour, 
Yet we never repin'd nor lamented." 

Nevertheless, our views in life should be d rected to a solid, 
however moderate independence. It is as much our duty as our 
interest, to employ diligent and prudent endeavors to escape 
poverty and want ; to provide " things honest " for ourselves and 
our families ; to lay up against seasons of sickness and the decay 
of age ; and even to strive hard to put ourselves in a condition, 
in which we can be rather the dispensers than the receivers of 
charity. Utter negligence in these matters, so far from evincing 
nobleness of spirit, is, for the most part, dishonorable and mean, 
and commonly terminates in abjectness both of circumstances 
and of mind. The loss or destitution of personal independence 
or the condition of beggarly want, has no little aptness and like- 
lihood to occasion the loss of integrity and of all moral princi- 
ple. It was when Esau came from the field, at the point to die 
of famishment, that he sold his birthright. 

It would be impossible to tell what precise quantity of world- 
ly estate is just sufficient, and no more than sufficient ; since it 
would depend upon a variety of circumstances growing out of the 
particular state of society, and on a number of other items which 
could not be calculated with precision. The best rule is, to rest 
satisfied with the appointment which Providence makes, and, 
having food and raiment, therewith to be content. 

The middle state of life has been thought, by the wise, to 
afford the best means both for the enjoyment of comfort and for the 



330 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

practice of virtue. Under this impression, a pious sage of old 
made the following petition to heaven : " Give me neither poverty 
nor riches.*' I know of none among the moderns, however much 
they may differ in points of religion or of politics, who have any 
objection to the first clause of this prayer of Agur ; but in 
this money-loving age, it is questionable whether many can be 
found, either male or female, who pray heartily that riches may 
not fall to their lot. or who would run with all their might to 
escape from a shower of gold that should threaten to fall into 
their laps. It is however certain, that riches and poverty are 
two extremes, each encompassed w T ith peculiar evils ; and with- 
out saying what none will believe, that extreme riches are as 
much to be dreaded as extreme poverty, I would wish to impress 
this useful truth, that people in middling circumstances, if they 
would only think so themselves, have enough ; and have reason to 
be thankful for their lot, rather than to repine at it. 

Sir William Jones, alike eminent for genius, learning, and 
Christian philosophy, wrote his own epitaph, which begins with 
these expressions : — " Here was deposited the mortal part of a 
man who feared God, but not death, and maintained independence 
but sought not riches." 

If any worldly happiness is enviable, it is that of such a mind. 
They only are truly rich, who are sensible they have enough, 
and have no disquieting desires after more ; a happy condition, 
which does not necessarily imply large possessions, nor is often 
the consequence of them. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 331 



NUMBER LXXVII. 

OF THE EARLY AND ARDENT DESIRE FOR POWER. 

The love of power is as natural as to breathe. It shows itself 
in the first dawn of reason. How soon the infant begins to strug- 
gle to have his will and way ! Ere he can speak, or walk, in the 
tone of his cry, and in his visage and motions, you may plainly 
read the stout words, 1 will and I wont. With impotent violence 
he squirms in his mother's arms, in order to command the utmost 
of her attentions. The oftener he gains his point, with the more 
resolute boisterousness does he proceed to assert his claims to 
her submission, and to the devotion of all her time and faculties 
to the service of his single self. 

Having brought under him his nursing mother, no sooner is 
he able to run about upon his legs, than he strives to extend his 
dominion. He exacts of the other children, and of all about him. 
an implicit compliance with his will. When opposed or thwart- 
ed, he regards it as downright rebellion against his rightful 
authority ; and accordingly swells with rage, which he deals out 
by blows, or vents in harsh and grating music. 



332 THE BEIEF BEMABKER 

Moreover, among the earliest of his coverings is that of pro- 
perty. Scarcely any thing is more common than for little chil- 
dren to ash. with peculiar earnestness, May ice have this for our 
own .- Nor are they willing to take up with any thing short of 
such a covenant. And why is it, that, not content with the mere 
use of the thing, they are so fain to have it as their own ? It is 
because property is power. One has exclusive power over that 
which is exclusively one's own. Of this matter of fact, the child 
of four seems almost as sensible as the man of forty ; and hence 
it is. I conceive, that our appetence for property — which is but 
another name for power — begins even in infancv, and enlarges as 
our years increase. So true is it, that the passion for power is 
the ruling passion in human nature. 

A question then arises here, as to the bearing that early edu- 
cation and discipline should have on the predominant passion 
or principle under consideration : — a question of vast importance, 
which, however, I could but barely touch now. even were I better 
able to do it justice. 

In weeding a garden we take great care lest, with the weeds, 
we root up also some precious plant. In like manner should we 
endeavor to weed, as it were, the faults out of the minds of our 
children; looking diligently that we neither spoil nor mar what 
the Eternal Wisdom has planted in them, or any part of the 
natural constitution of their frame. If, then, the love of power 
be a part of the radical constitution of man, the proper method 
of education is not to eradicate, but to temper and curb it. 

This species of discipline should be begun at a very early 
age, and managed with a firm but prudent hand. It is a task, 
which, for the most part, devolves chiefly upon the mother. As 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 333 

soon a s her infant offspring evidently appears to set up a resolu- 
tion for the mastery, she has no alternative but either to conquer 
or submit ; for there is no sueh thing as balancing or dividing the 
power betwixt them. If she submit for the first time, it prepares 
the way for a second defeat, and indeed for an endless series of 
submissions ; as the child, in such a case, constantly becomes 
more refractory and usurping, and she more tame, yielding, and 
slavish. Thus she nurses up, not so much a son, as an imperious 
master. But provided the mother begins betimes, and manages 
the matter with discretion, she may subdue the infant to her au- 
thority, and that without overmuch correction, even though she 
should have to encounter a more than ordinary obstinacy of tem- 
per ; which, so far from being an ill symptom in children, might, 
by proper curbing and culture, be made to issue in manly firm- 
ness of character. 

The strife for mastery, as I said before, begins in the cradle ; 
and if not properly decided and settled there, it will be full likely, 
as years increase, to appear in frightful shapes. For the conten- 
tions of little children, first with their mothers, and afterwards 
with one another, are the germen, as it were, of the contentions 
of grown men, which fill the earth with violence and blood. 

Wherefore, nothing of human means would, perhaps, so much 
conduce to the future peace and happiness of mankind, as to 
break children betimes of a domineering spirit, and to weave, 
as it were, into their tender minds, sentiments and habits of mu- 
tual deference, civility, and benevolence. If it were generally 
made a main part of education (as assuredly it ought to be of 
Christian education), to teach children to curb their wills and to 
respect the rights and feelings of one another, an auspicious 



334 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

revolution in the affairs of the human kind might be reasonably 
looked for. A new and happy era might be expected, when 
fighting and killing would not, as always hitherto, be the main 
subject of the history of man ; when the fame and renown of men 
would no longer be built on the destruction of their fellow-men. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 335 



NUMBER LXXVIII. 



OF GIVIXG IX MARRIAGE. 



Marriage, which is the first and most important of social insti- 
tutions, is, in civilized countries, generally regulated by law ; but 
giving in marriage is a matter of custom. And upon this last 
point, custom is very diverse in different parts of the world. 

In the simple patriarchal ages, a father was, as it were, a 
sovereign and independent ruler over his own household. His 
daughters, especially, were quite at his disposal. Yet, in giving 
a daughter in marriage, it was the custom to consult her own 
inclination, as appears in the twenty-fourth chapter of the book 
of Genesis, with respect to the case of Rebekak. In process of 
time, however, it seems to have become customary in Asia, for 
fathers to betroth their daughters with little or no apparent re- 
gard for their preferences or wishes. In that enslaved country, 
where women are held in a condition of extreme debasement, a 
irl is compelled to accept the husband assigned her by family 
authority, how much soever she may detest him in her heart, 



336 THE BKIEF REMARKER 

Not that it is quite so all over the vast continent of Asia. 
For there are in it some nations, simple in their manners, that 
still retain the primitive custom of allowing females the privilege 
of a negative upon such of their suitors as are not fortunate 
enough to find favor with thern. 

In Dr. Clark's description of the manners of the Calmuck 
Tartars, resident in Asiatic Russia, is an instance in point res- 
pecting their conjugal rites. " Calmuck women," he says, " ride 
better than the men. A male Calmuck on horseback looks as if 
he was intoxicated, and likely to fall off every instant, though 
he never loses his seat ; but the women sit with more ease, and 
ride with extraordinary skill. The ceremony of marriage among 
the Calmucks is performed on horseback. A girl is first mount- 
ed, who rides off in full speed. Her lover pursues ; and if he 
overtakes her, she becomes his wife, and the marriage is consum- 
mated on the spot ; after which, she returns with him to his tent. 
But it sometimes happens that the woman does not wish to marry 
the person by whom she is pursued, in which case she will not 
suffer him to overtake her ; and we were assured that no instance 
occurs of a Calmuck girl being thus caught, unless she had a 
partiality for the pursuer" 

Somewhat similar to this account of the Calmucks, is the 
following fabulous story of ancient date : a Atalanta had many 
admirers, but the only condition of obtaining her hand, was to 
beat her in running a race. At last Hippomenes ran with her, 
and dropping some golden apples, which she stopped to pick up, 
he won the race and married her.' 1 How much or how little this 
old fable, so obvious in its meaning, is illustrative of the female 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 337 

heart in the present age, is a delicate question, that I shall not 
take upon me to decide. 

Western Europe, from which we ourselves have borrowed 
most of oar customs, allows women a rank unprecedented and 
unknown in the Eastern world. This is owing greatly to its su- 
perior civilization, but primarily and chiefly to the influence of 
Christianity, to which indeed, in no inconsiderable degree, its su- 
perior civilization is also to be attributed. But even in Western 
Europe, the females of the highest rank arc disposable property, 
as respects giving in marriage. In a matter so deeply inter- 
esting to their comfort and happiness, there is denied them all 
liberty of choice. A royal maid is disposed of in marriage upon 
the principle of state-policy altogether, and she must accept the 
husband that is selected for her, or else draw down upon herself 
an intolerable weight of scorn and indignation. Moreover, among 
the several ranks of nobility, giving in marriage is conducted on 
a principle of calculation, rather than of attachment. So that, 
in this interesting particular, the liberty of European females is 
in an inverse ratio to the rank of their families. The deplorable 
consequences are the same that might reasonably be expected ; — 
such as coldness, alienation, domestic feuds, and conjugal infi- 
delity, so common and notorious among those high-born ladies who 
have been given in marriage contrary to their own wishes. 

Nor does it by any means follow, on the other hand, that 
paternal authority has no concern in this matter. It has indeed 
a deep concern, but it is rather negative than injunctive. A 
father has an undoubted right, — nay, he is in duty bound to re- 
fuse consent to an alliance, which he thinks would be deeply 
prejudicial to the interests of his child, and to use all proper 
15 



338 THE BKIEF EEMABKEB 

means in bis power to prevent it. So far is this from cruelty, 
that it is a mark of affection, and an act of kindness. But if be 
overleaps tbis boundary; if be assumes tbe right of selection: 
if be attempts to give his daughter in marriage against her own 
inclination ; if be would sacrifice her peace to tbe Mammon of 
avarice, or to tbe Moloch of ambition ; — it is then that he acts 
the part of a tyrant, and is deserving of severity of censure. 

Such instances, however, do seldom happen in common life ; 
in which there is a much greater number of children who rush 
into the state of marriage with a criminal disregard of parental 
authority and feeling, than of parents who abuse their authority 
in the manner above mentioned. Nor does this species of un- 
dutifulness often fail of resulting in matrimonial infelicity. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 339 



NUMBER LXXIX. 

OF USEFUL IXDUSTEY, CONSIDEEED AS A MOEAL DUTY 

The fourth commandment in the sacred decalogue lays upon 
us two distinct obligations ; it imposes labor no less expressly 
than it enjoins a holy rest. u Six days shalt thou labor , and do 
all thy workP 

Hence it is a just and fair inference, that a life of volun- 
tary idleness is a life of disobedience to the law and will of heaven. 
If of your own choice you spend the six working days idly, you 
are as verily a transgressor of the moral law, as you would be 
in disregarding the day that is consecrated. And besides, we 
are the better fitted for the duties of the Sabbath, by means of 
our industry in "providing things honest" during the rest of the 
week ; whilst, on the other hand, he that idles away the six days 
of labor, is very ill prepared for the sacred day of rest. The 
idle body, who, nevertheless, appears occasionally devout, sepa- 
rates what God hath joined together; for he that said, k ' : Remember 
the Sabbath day to keep it holy," hath also said, " Six days shalt 
thou labor." 



340 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

Well-directed industry is a moral and Christian duty ; a 
scriptural duty, which none that are capable of it can dispense 
with, and be guiltless. Neither wealth, nor rank, nor sex, can 
excuse a person in good health, and of competent faculties, from 
all and every kind of useful labor, either of body or mind, or 
of both. Mere amusement is for little children. Employment, 
useful employment is for men and women. And, indeed, as little 
is there granted us the liberty of doing no good at all with our 
faculties, as of employing them in doing evil and mischief. 

Labor is either mental, or bodily, or mixed. There are none 
whose labor is a greater " weariness of the flesh," as well as of 
the nobler part of humanity, than men of close and unremitting 
study ; and there are none whose industry is more useful to 
mankind. The man of talents, who in solitude, and perhaps in 
neglected poverty, employs discreetly the faculties of his mind, to 
enlighten and instruct his fellow-beings in their immortal, or even 
their mortal interests, is a benefactor to the community, rather 
than a burden. 

Nevertheless, he, even he. errs wofully, if he neglects to 
exercise his body. It is lamentable to see how many men of 
study, how many promising youths, waste away their strength, 
impair their constitutions, and bring upon themselves incurable 
diseases and premature death, solely for the want of a proper mix- 
ture of bodily exercise with the strenuous labors of their minds. 

In the proud and fastidious times in which we live, manual 
labor of the useful kind is accounted a thing too vulgar for those 
of the better sort. Many a young gentleman would feel himself 
dishonored by doing any thing called work; and many a young 
lady would blush to be found employed in an occupation really 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 341 

useful; even though both were in circumstances imperatively 
demanding their industry. 

In this respect the manners of society have suffered a deplo- 
rable change. The time was, when labor was held in honor 
among even the rich and noble ; when even ladies of the highest 
fortune and rank, thought it not beneath them to work occasion- 
ally with their hands. Near the conclusion of the last century 
but one, Queen Mary, of England, who was joint sovereign with 
her husband, the heroic William the Third, "used frequently," 
as history informs us, " to employ some part of her time in needle- 
work ; appointing one or other of her maids of honor to read 
something lively, as well as instructive, to her. and to the rest, 
whilst they were busy with their needles." 

The age next preceding that of Mary, furnishes at least one 
example in high life, that is still more remarkable. Sir Walter 
Raleigh 3 lodging at the house of a noble Duke, early in the 
morning overheard the Duchess inquiring of her servants if 
the pigs had been fed, and, with a significant smile, asked her, 
as he was going to the table, if her pigs had had their breakfast. 
She archly replied, " They have all been fed, except the strange 
pig that I am now about to feed." 

The man, who. of all the American worthies, was a first in 
war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen,'' was 
no less remarkable for industry than for wisdom and integrity. 

One of the biographers of Washington remarks of him, " his 
industry was unremitted, and his method so exact, that all the 
complicated business of his military command, and civil adminis- 
tration, was managed without Gonfusion, and without hurry. It 
was the assemblage of these traits of character, so early visible in 



342 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

him j that recommended him, when scarcely more than a boy, to 
an embassy of no ordinary importance, hazard, and difficulty. 
Happy were it if the youths of America would, in this respect, 
copy the example of one whose memory they so delight to honor. 

Few things are impossible to industry, skilfully directed. 
By it, men of but moderate talents rise sometimes to deserved 
eminence ; by it, the man of " small things" expands himself by 
little and little, till he comes at last to occupy a respectable space 
in society ; and by it the face of the living world is illumined and 
gladdened. 

What difficulties have been overcome, what wonders have 
been wrought, and what immense benefits have been procured 
by the industrious application of the mental and corporeal powers 
of man ! 

On the other hand, no gifts of nature, or of fortune, can su- 
persede the necessity for industry. Sloth is a rust, that eats up 
the finest ingredients of genius, and mars and consumes the great- 
est of fortunes. He that is slothful of mind, loseth his mind ; in- 
stead of enlarging it, it contracts and diminishes as he increases 
in years. He that is slothful in business, will at last have neither 
business to do, nor any thing to sustain his declining age. In 
short, a downright slug, whether in high life or low, vegetates 
rather than lives. Habitual indolence is one of the worst symp- 
toms in youth ; a fever is less hopeless than a lethargy. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 34 



Q 



NUMBEE LXXX. 

OF THE MORAL USE OF THE PILLOW WITH REFLECTIONS OX SLEEP. 

" Consult thy pillow." This short counsel contains " more 
than meets the eye." The pillow is the close friend of medita- 
tion, of serious though tfulness, and of freedom of conscience, in 
so far as it gives that faithful monitor the best of opportunities 
for administering wholesome reproof. 

'• The day is thine ; the night also is thine : " — and with the 
like graciousness are they both given, the one for labor, and the 
other for rest — nor yet for rest alone, but also for a sober sur- 
vey of past life, and more particularly of the day that has fleet- 
ed last. The mantle of darkness, which hides exterior objects, 
turns the busy mind upon itself, willingly or unwillingly, accord- 
ing to its moral frame and habits. 

Human greatness, that lords it by day, is not at all exempt 
from stern admonishment on the pillow. There, no longer able 
to show off splendor and prowess, its pride is not flattered, nor 
are its feelings spared. Ahasuerus, for example, the richest, the 



344 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 

most splendid, and the most puissant of all the monarchs of the 
East — reigning from India even unto Ethiopia, over a hundred 
and seven and twenty provinces ; — this Ahasuerus laid him 
clown upon his bed of gold, in a spacious room supported by 
pillars of marble, and adorned with white, green, and blue hang- 
ings, fastened with cords of fine linen and purple to silver 
rings. Thus lie laid him down, amid an unrivalled profusion 
of Eastern magnificence — but on that night, could not the king- 
sleep. The world else was asleep. The man-servant and the 
maid-servant, the meanest of slaves, the veriest wretches in the 
whole realm, were fast asleep. And could not the lord and 
master of them all, the monarch in the palace of Shushan — 
could not he woo slumber to his eyelids ? Alas, no ! It turned, 
however, to r;ood. Of necessity, rather than of choice, the 
luxurious and effeminate desnot, to relieve him from sore rest- 
lessness, bethought himself of improving the wearisome vigils 
of the night in looking into the affairs of his government. He 
called for the reading of the book of records of the chronicles; 
and finding that an upright and excellent servant, to whom he 
owed his life, had been utterly neglected, he ordered him a 
bounteous reward. — A righteous deed, which never, in any prob- 
ability, would he have done, had he not consulted his pillow. 

It is upon the pillow that the book of records of the chron- 
icles is most frequently set before the eyes of those mortals, 
who sadly misspend their time, and abuse the high privileges of 
their nature. Conscience presents the handwriting, and there is 
no such thing as turning their eyes away from it. In vain they 
turn, and toss themselves on this side, and on that, longing for 
sleep : the records of the chronicles are still full in their view — 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 345 

and they are fain to make vows and solemn promises, too often 
unheeded on the morrow. 

Projects of too great hazard — plans of questionable nature 
and doubtful issue — resolutions taken up of a sudden, and with- 
out being duly weighed : — these, engendered by the fever of the 
day, are abandoned, or rectified, upon coolly consulting the 
pillow. So that many a one has risen up in the morning, with 
more reasonable sentiments and views respecting his personal 
affairs, than those w 7 ith which he had lain down. And many 
a one, also, by consulting the pillow, has cooled hot resentments, 

and abandoned purposes of revenge. 

In consulting the pillow, one thing especially is to be ever 
kept in practical remembrance ; and that is, to offer up the silent 
adorations of the heart, both at the instant of falling asleep, and 
at the moment of waking. " I ivill both lay me down in peace, 
and sleep : for thou Lord only makest one to dwell in safety. — 
I laid me doiun and slept ; I awaked; for the Lord sus- 
tained me" 

And what art thou, Sleep ? Of what stuff art thou made ? 
Whence comest thou when thou visitest our pillows, and whither 
goest thou when, ceasing to press gently our eyelids, thou art 
borne awa} T upon the wings of the morning ? Thou incompre- 
hensible Something — thou invisible solace of heavy-laden man 
— should one gain the whole world in exchange for thee, how 
pre-eminently miserable would be that one ! 

" The great cordial of nature is sleep. He that can sleep 

soundly, takes the cordial ; and it matters not, whether it be on 

a soft bed, or on the hard boards. It is sleep only that is the 

thing necessary." This sovereign cordial, so often denied to 

15* 



346 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

worldly prosperity and grandeur, is, for the most part, bountifully 
furnished to those in circumstances most deplorable and forlorn. 

Behold the wretchedest of the wretched — a captive and slave 
to the wild Arabs. Day after day he suffers with hunger, with 
thirst, with fatigue, with terror, — the very utmost that human 
nature is capable of enduring : — night after night he reposes in 
sound sleep, nor is he ever disturbed with even a single unplea- 
sant dream, though stretched upon the bare ground, and in the 
bleak and open air, or lodged amidst the noisomeness of dungeon 
filth. 

Perhaps , of all the immense percipient beings, above as well 
as below us, there is only One, who neither slumbers nor sleeps 
— from that One, cometh the inestimable gift of quiet sleep. 

Next to the goadings of a guilty conscience, the principal 
banishers, or rather murderers of sleep, are these : — Luxury, Dissi- 
pation, Ambition, Avarice, Envy, Malice, together with whatever 
other of the family of the malignant passions. u miserable of 
happy" — more especially upon their pillows — are many, very 
many, of those whom the world deems the happiest of men and 
women ! 

On the contrary, next to pureness of conscience and sound- 
ness of health, the most successful wooers of sweet sleep are Tem- 
perance, Useful Labor, Benevolence, Resignation, Gratitude for 
the good that Providence bestows. 

It is obvious to remark, that Intemperance in sleeping is to 
be guarded against, as well as Intemperance in eating and drink- 
ing. This cordial of nature should be used as a cordial, The 
habit of over-sleeping weakens the frame both of body and mind ; 
and besides this, is a clear loss of precious and invaluable time. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 347 

Only the space of two hours in the twenty-four, if redeemed from 
unnecessary sleep, to what vast account might it not be turned 
in the course of twenty years. 

Once more : Sleep has, in several respects, so near a resem- 
blance to Death, that the relation, in " Paradise Lost," of the 
conceptions of Adam when falling into his first slumber, has no 
less of nature than of beauty. 

" On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers, 
Pensive I sat me down : there gentle sleep 
First found me, and with soft oppression seiz'd 
My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought 
I then was passing to my former state 
Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve." 

As a counterpart to which, I will quote another Christian 
poet — the admirable Montgomery. 

* There is a calm for those who weep, 
A rest for weary pilgrims found ; 
And while the mouldering ashes sleep 

Low in the ground ; 

" The soul, of origin divine, 
God's glorious image, freed from clay, 
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine, 
A star of day ! " 

X 



348 THE BRIEF EEMAKKER 



NUMBEE LXXXI. 

OF THE TWO OPPOSITE EEEOES THE EXTEEME OF SUSPICION AND THE 

EXTEEME OF CONFIDENCE. 

Mankind are alike betrayed by the excess of suspicion and of 
confidence. The maxim, that in suspicion is safety, is true only 
in a qualified sense ; for overmuch suspicion errs as often as over- 
much confidence. As to believe nothing would be quite as wrong 
as to believe every thing, so to trust nobody is no less an error 
than to trust every body. Indeed it is the worse error of the two, 
because there is more evil in causelessly thinking ill, than in 
causelessly thinking well of our fellow-beings. 

Bad men, who look chiefly into themselves for information 
concerning the human kind, are ready to believe the worst of 
others. Conscious of their own insincerity, they can hardly 
think that any speak friendly to them or act kindly toward them, 
with intentions that are really sincere. They suspect religion to 
be hypocrisy, and that apparent virtue is but a mask to conceal 
the naughtiness of the heart: Piety, self-government, munifi- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 349 

cence, and all the charities of life, they impute to corrupt or in- 
terested motives. Hence thy repose firm confidence scarcely in 
any one. Now as to persons of this cast, they are not only the 
dupes of their own jealousy, but its victims. A suspicion of 
every body they have to do with, as it keeps them in perpetual 
fear and disquietude, and prevents their enjoying the common 
comforts and benefits of society, so it precludes all likelihood, and 
almost all possibility of self-amendment. For their minds are too 
intent upon the faults of others, to attend to their own ; and be- 
sides, their mistrusting ill of all about them, furnishes a power- 
ful opiate to their own consciences. 

It has been boasted by some men of business that they never, 
in all their lifetime, suffered by imposition or imposture ; that 
they had always accustomed themselves to keep so sharp an eye 
upon mankind, that nobody could cheat or deceive them. This 
is not, however, any great matter of boasting ; for it is scarcely 
possible that they should have been so constantly on their guard 
against deception, if they had not had a vigilant monitor and 
prompter in their own hearts. Upon the same ground, it is an ill 
mark in any one to decry apparent virtue in others, and to assign 
bad motives to their good deeds ; since it argues that the only 
motives that can fall within the ken of his own mental eye, are 
generally faulty, if not totally corrupt. In short, it is better now 
and then to be deceived, and even duped, than never to con- 
fide. 

On the contrary, persons of honest, benevolent views, are apt, 
from that very circumstance, to run into the opposite extreme. 
Conscious of their own uprightness and probity, they are hard to 
suspect that any, who wear the semblance of these virtues, should 



350 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

have it in their hearts to beguile them ; and, of course, for want 
of prudent caution, are peculiarly liable, through an amiable weak- 
ness, to be ensnared, and sometimes desperately injured. It is 
especially in youth that we find this error, which is commonly 
cured by time and experience. An unsuspecting youth, soured by 
bitter experience, may become too suspicious in old age ; whilst 
a youth of an excessive jealousy of temper, commonly grows 
more jealous or suspicious, as he advances in years. 

There are two classes of men who are often betrayed by an 
excess of confidence : these are creditors and debtors. As it 
respects the former, the remark is too obvious to need proof or 
illustration. The error of giving indiscriminate credit, is too visi- 
ble in its deplorable consequences to be generally seen. But the 
opposite error — that is, the error of taking too large credit, is 
not quite so manifest, though equally fatal. 

As the creditor trusts the debtor, so, on the other hand, does 
the debtor trust the creditor, except in instances in which he is 
morally certain of making punctual payment. If one runs in 
debt beyond his ability to pay in good season, he has to trust to 
the mercy of his creditor, not merely as to his house and lands, 
goods and chattels, but sometimes even for the liberty of going 
at large. The creditor has a power over his property, and in 
some places over his personal liberty. If he exact the last far- 
thing of the debt the very instant it becomes due, and that notwith- 
standing the plea of inability to pay, he may, perhaps, be called 
hard and unfeeling, but not unjust. The promise in the note or 
bond entitles him to be thus rigorous, and the law is on his 
side. Neither is any debtor entitled, ordinarily, to expect any 
thing short of this rigor from his creditor, except on principles 



OlN THE WAYS OF MAN. 351 

of compassion : and surely it evinces too much of confidence, as 
well as too little of spirit, when one places himself, unnecessarily, 
in circumstances to need the compassion of a fellow-man as his 
only earthly resource. 



302 THE BRIEF REMARKEE 



NUMBER LXXXII. 



OX SUNSHINE FKIENDS. 



An ancient naturalist tells us, that the rats will leave a house 
which is about to fall. 

But whether it be so or not, there is in some human animals 
a sort of instinct very nearly like it . — they are your sunshine 
friends, who stick to you closely in prosperity ; but no sooner do 
they perceive a bleak storm of adversity hovering over you, than 
they estrange themselves and stand aloof. 

Nor is this an upstart race of modern origin. Contrariwise, 
we find it distinctly noted and described in writings of early 
antiquity ; but in none more admirably than in the following pas- 
sages of the Son of Sirach : — " For," says that skilful remarker 
on mankind, " some man is a friend for his own occasion, and will 
not abide in the day of thy trouble. And there is a friend, who, 
being turned to enmity and strife, will discover thy reproach. 
Again, some friend is a companion at the table, and will not con- 
tinue in the day of thy affliction. But in thy prosperity he will 
be as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants. If thou be 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 353 

brought low, he will be against thee, and will hide himself from 
thy face." So also, in another part of his admirable book, the 
same writer further describes this sort of gentry : — u If thou be 
for his profit, he will use thee : but if thou have nothing, he will 
forsake thee. If thou have any thing, he will live with thee : yea, 
he will make thee bare, and will not be sorry for it. If he have 
need of thee, he will deceive thee, and smile upon thee, and put 
thee in hope ; he will speak fair, and say, What wantest thou ? 
He will shame thee by his meats, until he have drawn thee dry 
twice or thrice, and at the last he will laugh thee to scorn : 
afterward when he seeth thee, he will forsake thee, and shake his 
head at thee." 

The common saying, Prosperity makes friends , is admissible 
only in a qualified sense. Most of the friends of prosperity's 
making scarcely deserve the name ; for no sooner do they per- 
ceive your fortune falling, than they make off with themselves, 
like the rats from a falling house. 

To exemplify this truth, instances almost without number 
might be drawn from history, ancient and modern, sacred and 
profane. But narrowing the subject to a single point, my object 
will be the rectification of a very prevalent error ; namely, the 
idle notion of attractiug regard by a style of living too expensive 
for our condition. 

Nothing more distinctly- marks the age and the country we 
live in, than this species of folly. If the former days were not 
better than these in other respects, yet in this one respect they 
were a great deal better : they were times of sober, prudent 
economy. Poverty was not arrayed in costly attire ; mediocrity 
did not ape the splendor and expense of wealth ; industry was 



354 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

coupled with frugality ; the great bulk of the yeomanry were 
plain in their living, and accustomed their children to plainness 
of food and raiment : the trader made it a point to win gold ere 
he wore it ; it was fashionable for families to live within their in- 
come ; it was creditable to be provident and economical. 

Marvellous is the change, which the short term of a single 
age has brought forth. Now, the general language of practice is, 
" Away with the old-fashioned maxims of frugal economy, and 
up with the expenses of high life.'' The distinctions of wealth 
are lost in the general blaze ; all being alike fine, all alike ac- 
customed to sumptuous fare. The two extremes in society, to 
wit, Wealth and Pauperism, as it were, meet together ; the mid- 
dle class, of such magnitude and might in other times, having 
lost its distinctive marks of genealogy. 

This ruinous course is entered upon, and obstinately per- 
sisted in, not unfrecjuently in the full view of some of its baleful 
consequences. It needs very little of arithmetic to calculate how 
it will end. The youth must know that if, in his days of health 
and vigor, he spends all as he goes, he will, in the seasons of 
sickness and decrepit age, be a forlorn dependant upon charity. 
All must needs know the inevitable effects produced by the out- 
goes exceeding the incomes. 

But as an offset to the disadvantages of embarrassment, pover- 
ty, and debt, a great many, peradventure, are soothed with the 
idea that they are obtaining notice and regard, or, in other words, 
are making to themselves friends. In the estimate of their own 
imaginations, they do not icaste their substance ; they only bar- 
ter it for honorable connections, for distinguished rank in society, 
for a close alliance with wealth and fashion, for claims upon the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 355 



hearts of a large circle of respectable ladies and gentlemen. 
These, they are confident, will never abjure their friendship, nor 
forsake them, come what will. 

Alas ! too late are they undeceived. Too late are they taught 
by rueful experience, that the companions at the table abide not 
when they are brought loiv — that they are sooner forsaken by 
none, than by those who had lived upon the?n } and drawn than 
dry — that these flesh-pot friends are among the first to laugh 
them to scorn, and to shake the head, at them. 

Harmanicus — I have known him well — Harmanicus, of pro- 
verbial hospitality, had made to himself an endless train of 
friends. His house was for all the world like a public inn, except 
that the customers had not a farthing to pay ; — a precious cir- 
cumstance which gave it the decided preference. Far and near 
was Harmanicus known, and for his profuse liberality far and 
near was he admired. Fashion, and Wealth, and Rank, did him 
the honor to eat of his lc savory meats," and to drink of his 
delicious wines. The itinerant gentry neglected not to spend 
one nio-ht at least, both going out and coming in, with the liberal- 
hearted Harmanicus. Even travellers and sojourners on business, 
found time, nevertheless, to breakfast, and dine, and sup, and 
lodge, with Harmanicus, who provided withal " both straw and 
provender." The worshipful Bencher, for many years his close 
table-friend, never failed to live with him in term-time. They 
served themselves of him to the last. They eked out their 
friendly visits till they had milked all his resources dry ; till 
poorly, poor man ! was he barely able to shift for himself; — and 
then— -What then ? — Read the Son of Sirach for an answer. 



356 THE BRIEF KEJIARKER 



NUMBER LXXXIII. 

OF THE MISUSE OF THE FACULTY OF MEMOS Y. 

In the little citadel of the mind, the Memory acts as a sort of 
subaltern ; and hence it is often blamed, and sometimes wrong- 
fully, by the commander-in-chief. We seldom find men dissatis- 
fied with their understandings, or their judgments, or with the 
character of their hearts. Yery few are disposed to own that 
any of these are radically defective, or greatly in fault. But 
nothing is more common than to hear them berating their mem- 
ories, as not only weak, but treacherous. The aged I have often 
heard complain of their memories, but seldom of their judgments. 

" 'Tis with our judgments as our watches— none 
Go just alike, yet each believes his own." 

I said just now, that the memory sometimes is blamed wrong- 
fully ; and truth would bear me out were I to add, that nothing 
is more common than to tax the memory with faults of which it 
is in no wise guilty. In very many of the cases, in which forget- 
fulness is pleaded for excuse or apology, if the memory were al 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 357 

lowed to speak for herself, she would let it be known that the im- 
putations cast upon her are slanderous falsehoods, and that, in 
those particular cases, she had performed her part in full meas- 
ure. 

Artificial methods of assisting the memory have been sug- 
gested by writers, and at least one invention for that purpose has 
been made, and put in practice by those who could not write. 
It is worthy of notice as a curiosity, if not for its use. 

According to Smith's history of the colony of Xew York — in 
1689, commissioners from Boston, Plymouth, and Connecticut, 
had a conference with the Five Indian nations, at Albany : when 
a Mohawk sachem, in a speech of great length, answered the mes- 
sage of the commissioners, and repeated all that had been said 
the preceding day. The art they had for assisting their memo- 
ries was this. The sachem, who presided, had a bundle of sticks 
prepared for the purpose, and at the close of each principal arti- 
cle of the message delivered to them, he gave a stick to another 
sachem, charging him with the remembrance of that particular ar- 
ticle. By this means the orator, after a previous conference with 
the sachems who severally had the sticks, was prepared to repeat 
every part of the message, and to give to it its proper reply. 
This custom, as the historian remarks, was invariably pursued in 
all their public treaties. 

The gift of memory, like the other gifts of nature, is distributed 
to some individuals more, and to others less. "Wh le all are blest 
with such a measure of memory as might suffice them, if well im- 
proved, some few possess it in an extraordinary measure : and, 
what is truly wonderful, a very strong memory is sometimes found 
yoked with a very feeble intellect. There are some persons that 



358 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

can repeat, word for word, a long discourse, upon hearing or read- 
ing it only once or twice, and yet are possessed of minds too weak 
and slender to reason upon matters with any considerable degree 
of ability, or to judge of them accurately. A man of this sort, 
ever makes himself tiresome, if not ridiculous, by dealing out 
wares from the vast stores of his memory, without regard to time, 
place, or fitness. But whenever, on the other hand, an excellent 
memory is united with a sound and vigorous understanding, no- 
thing but indolence can hinder such a one from becoming great — 
nothing but the want of good principle at heart, can prevent his 
acting, with superior excellence, some part or other upon the 
theatre of life. 

In general we forget, for want of attention, more than for 
want of memory. Persons of very indifferent memories find no 
difficulty in remembering certain things that have excited their 
attention in a very high degree ; while a thousand other things of 
far greater moment have been utterly forgotten by them. Once 
on a time, an Indian preacher said to an assembly of white 
people, who were gathered together to hear him — " Though you 
will forget what I say, you will remember as long as you live, that 
you have heard an Indian preach." It was even so. None of 
the assembly did, probably, forget this striking circumstance ; 
though few retained in memory either sermon or text. 

The good we do is registered faithfully in our memories, but 
our reprovable deeds we consign to oblivion, by concealing them 
as much as possible from our own sight, as well as from the sight 
of others. 

" Creditors," generally speaking, " have better memories than 
their debtors." The former are never known to forget the bond ; 



ON THE WAYS OK MAN. 359 

while the latter are very prone to forget it, or at least, to forget 
its date, or the day of promised payment. 

The doer of a favor or benefit, is apt to remember it a great 
deal longer than the receiver. 

It is one of the worst and most treacherous memories, that for- 
gets friends, and even benefactors, in their adversity, when they 
stand in need of aid. " Yet did not the chief butler remember 
Joseph, but for gat him." 

All of us inherit from nature better memories for injuries 
than for kindnesses. This lamentable error of memory, it deep- 
ly concerns us to remedy by all the means in our power. 

A man of a truly great mind, who had been both obliged and 
disobliged by the same persons, magnanimously resolved to for- 
get all that might diminish his gratitude, and to remember only 
what might increase it. 



360 THE BKIEF REMARKED 



NUMBEK LXXXIV. 

OF ATTAINING A FACILITY OF TTTTEEANCE, OE YOCAL EXPEESSION. 

A man well versed in the knowledge of the world, made this 
pithy remark: " Words are things.''' Not like inarticulate sounds, 
devoid of meaning, they are the instruments of an intercommu- 
nity of minds, and so are real things, highly necessary to be well 
understood ; the knowledge of them being the first step toward 
almost all other knowledge. 

Language is twofold, written and spoken. About the former, 
the generality of scholars employ much more labor and pains than 
about the latter, notwithstanding that this, or colloquial language, 
is requisite for use almost every wakeful hour of our lives. 

Dr. King, a first-rate scholar of the last age, who had long 
been familiar with the most distinguished literary characters in 
England, observes, in his Memoirs, that he had been acquainted 
with three persons only, who spoke English with that eloquence 
and propriety that if all they said had been immediately com- 
mitted to writing, any judge of the English language would have 
pronounced it an elegant and a very beautiful style : — and one of 
these was Dr. Johnson. Further he states, that, among the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 361 

French and Italians, few learned men are met with. who, are not 
able to express themselves with ease and eloquence in their own 
language. This defect on the part of the English, he attributes 
to the neglect of the study of their mother-tongue ; whereas the 
nations just named sedulously study theirs. 

To which it may, perhaps, be fairly added, that the partakers 
of the English blood, are inclined to be constitutionally phleg- 
matic and humdrum ; and conversing together much less than do 
some other portions of mankind, their colloquial faculties are 
much less improved by use and exercise. 

Be that, however, as it may, it is clear that English scholars 
fall far short of perfectness in the language, though ever so learned 
and accurate in its theory, unless they are able to speak it, on 
every occasion, with promptness, propriety and ease. To arrive 
at this rare attainment, or even to approximate to it, would be 
well worth no small degree of labor. 

The faculty of communicating thoughts with facility, is one 
of the most precious faculties belonging to the human kind : — a 
faculty, which all who aspire to shine as lights in the world 
should strive to acquire. Though a man have all knowledge, if 
unable to express what he knows, it can be of little more use than 
a lamp that is hid ; while, on the other hand, the complete power 
of expression gives the utmost advantage to the powers of the in- 
tellect. As a wrestler who can put forth his whole strength in a 
moment, and at the nick of time, is able to lay upon his back a slow- 
moulded man stronger than himself, so a speaker or a talker who 
has words at will on all occasions, has it in his power to baffle one 
possessing more extent and depth of understanding, but embar- 
rassed and faltering for want of words. Hence, one human un- 
16 



362 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

derstanding is often compelled to yield the palm of victory to an- 
other that is inferior to it, even when truth and right are on the 
side of the former. 

How shall difficulties be obviated, and the thing in question 
be attained ? 

The aforementioned Doctor King proposes to youth, the me- 
thod of committing to memory some of the finest passages of the 
English classics, for colloquial use. But with great deference to 
so high an authority, I must needs think that this method is very 
exceptionable. 

The practice of echoing in conversation the express sentences 
and phrases of celebrated authors, besides being pedantic and ful- 
some, tends to enfeeble the understanding, how much soever it 
may strengthen the memory. It is like leaning on a staff in 
walking ; the staff, however substantial and beauteous, either 
finds the body inert and clumsy, that leans much upon it, or 
makes it so. 

Speech is the vehicle of thought, and approximates toward 
perfection in proportion to the ease and celerity with which it 
conveys thought. This depends very much on judicious practice ; 
as a theoretical knowledge of the rules of any of the arts is insuf- 
ficient without practice, so it is with respect to language. Though 
one had a critical knowledge of all the rules of English grammar, 
and could give the meaning of all the words in this language, still 
he would be awkward both in speaking and writing the language, 
till practice had made him ready and expert. It is by practice 
that one gets the aptitude of conforming to the rules of grammar 
without effort, or even so much as thinking of them, and it is by 
practice that we learn so to connect and arrange words, that each 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN, 363 

shall be in its proper place, and the fittest for the place which it 
is put in. 

To combine, and express with readiness the thoughts repre- 
sented by language, requires not only a sufficient knowledge of 
the meaning of words, but also the faculty of having them al- 
ways at hand ; in which case, one can always express distinctly 
whatever he conceives distinctly — otherwise, he hesitates, however 
clear are his ideas. In this last respect lies the principal diffi- 
culty with many : though ideas or thoughts are clear in their 
minds, and they have a good knowledge of words, their speech is 
rather faltering than fluent, because the proper words do not 
spontaneously occur at the moment they are wanted. 

There is, perhaps, a method to remove this great difficulty, in 
part, if not altogether. A thoroughly practised artisan, whose 
trade requires a variety and frequent change of tools, spends not 
a moment in studying which tool he shall take up next; the proper 
one presents itself without any effort at selection. Now words 
are the tools of intellect. If thoughts be only distinct in the mind, 
there will be no need to ponder and search for words to express 
them : which, on all occasions, will be on the tongue, ready to be 
uttered, if they are enrooted in the memory. A good speller is not 
puzzled for letters, nor how to place them-: only make the requisite 
words as familiar to the mind as the letters of the alphabet, and 
they will come to the speaker, whenever they are wanted, as let- 
ters to the speller : both occur habitually. 

To effectuate this, let one write down, alphabetically, from a 
dictionary, the roots of as many well-selected words, as in fine hand 
would cover about three sheets of paper, and with his eye run 
over them occasionally, till they become as familiar as the letters 



364 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

of the alphabet. It would take up not much time, and might be 
done in vacant hours ; and perhaps the consequences, at length, 
would be a copiousness of words, ready for use, and, as it were> 
offering themselves whenever wanted. 

None that I know of has made this experiment, except one : 
and he too far advanced in age to expect to receive benefit from 
it himself, other than that of obviating, or partly obviating the 
dreaded effects of an inveterate malady of an oblivious character. 
This verv imperfect experiment, I am well certified, resulted in 
his full belief that, had he hit upon it in his juvenile years, and 
tried it thoroughly, it might have helped him considerably to the 
faculty of ready expression, or fluency, of which he has ever felt 
the need. 

Some few are gifted with a happy fecundity of words and a 
volubility of tongue, while the minds of others, though equally 
intelligent, are slow ; and it is only these last who need the nos- 
trum which I have ventured to prescribe notwithstanding its 
liableness to ridicule. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 365 



NUMBEK LXXXV. 

A OOMMEXT TTPOX THE FABLE OE THE IXYISIBLE SPECTACLES. 

" Jove,, once upon a time " (as an old heathen fable relates) " hav- 
ing ordered that Pleasure and Pain should be mixed, in equal 
proportions, in every dose of human life ; upon a complaint that 
some men endeavored to separate what he had joined, and taking 
more than their share of the sweet, would leave all the sour for 
others : commanded Mercury to put a stop to this evil, by pla- 
cing upon each delinquent a pair of invisible spectacles, which 
should change the appearance of things, making pain look like 
pleasure, and pleasure like pain, labor like recreation, and re- 
creation like labor." 

If by the Invisible Spectacles we are to understand the illu- 
sions which mislead the judgment in regard to the true comforts 
and interests of life, it is pretty certain that no kind of spectacles 
is in so general use. In the clays of youth, almost every thing is 
seen through these false glasses, which very many wear all their 
lifetime, in spite of age and experience. 

One of the most needful of all arts, is the art of completing. 



366 THE BRIEF REMAEKEK 

It is deemed indispensably necessary in all kinds of business. 
And hence we send our children to school, to learn the use of 
figures, and how to cast up accounts, and foot them to a nicety. 
One who has no knowledge at all of the nine figures of arith- 
metic, who even knows not that two and two make four, is regard- 
ed as fit for no sort of business above that of a menial servant. 
But besides the knowledge of figures, there is another branch of 
the art of computing, which is of superior importance : I mean an 
accurate knowledge of the value of things, considered in relation 
to our own real comfort and happiness. This is a kind of know- 
ledge not in itself so very difficult to learn, but which, never- 
theless, is hidden from multitudes of men and women of good 
natural parts, by reason that their manner is to view things 
through the medium, as it were, of magic spectacles, rather than 
with the naked and unprejudiced eye of reason. 

Apart from considering the common and fatal illusions 
through which immortal joys are sacrificed to transient pleasure, a 
great many, for want of skill in the art of computing, make wrong- 
judgment s about Pleasure, on the right choice of which their 
worldly weal depends in no inconsiderable measure. Scorning, 
or overlooking the simple and innocent pleasures of life, which 
are given in common to human beings, which no arts of refine- 
ment can considerably increase, and which excess never fails to 
embitter, — they lose the good they have, by their unfortunate 
longings after some unattainable state of earthly felicity. Pur- 
suing pleasure with eagerness, and as an employment, they pur- 
chase pain ; and that, at the expense of fortune, health, charac- 
ter, and peace of mind. At this dear rate they purchase the 
most grievous of pain, — to wit, that of satiety, which consists in 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 367 

loathing life and its enjo} T ments. He that is not man enough to 
govern his appetites, cannot make himself brute enough to in- 
dulge and pamper them without remorse ; and, therefore, in the 
very circumstance, in which he places his chief good, he is far 
less happy than some of the irrational animals around him. 

But to return to the fabulous spectacles. It may be taken 
for certain that, though invisible, they are actually worn by all 
persons belonging to any of the following classes. 

They certainly wear them, who fondly hope to find happiness 
in a life devoted to idleness and an unrestrained indulgence of 
passion and appetite. With respect to their true good, as relates 
even to this life alone, they are under a deplorable mistake. For 
it is an axiom built upon irrefragable experience, that if mere 
corporeal gratification were intended to be the main object of our 
pursuits, yet even then, with regard to real enjoyment, industry 
would be preferable to sloth, and temperance to excess. 

They wear them, who incessantly moil and toil, are hard 
dealers, illiberal, uncharitable, incompassionate to the poor ; — 
and all for the sake of hoarding up treasure for their children. 
Blind infatuation ! Often, very often, it happens that such 
hoards are squandered in a much shorter time than it took to 
gather them. 

They wear them, who, though possessing a competence, fret 
their hearts and imbitter their lives with covetings after riches. 
Were they to view things in a true light, they would be thankful, 
rather than discontented and querulous ; since their condition 
is precisely that which is best calculated to furnish the greatest 
amount of genuine earthly comfort. 

They wear them, who sacrifice realities to appearances, sub- 



368 THE BBIEF KEMAKKEft 

stantial comforts to airy notions, who would rather feel misery 
than not seem happy, who impoverish and beggar themselves for 
the sake of appearing more prosperous and felicitous than those 
of the common sort. The folly of such people's calculations is 
seen by everybody but themselves. 

Tkeywe&v them, who lay the scenes of their happiness abroad 
rather than at home. It is a certain trnth, that one who lives 
on uneasy terms with himself, can find very little enjoyment in 
extrinsic objects. So that the very first step in the road to 
solid happiness, is the acquirement of a contented mind ; because 
without a disposition to contentment, any change of place, or 
of outward condition, is only the exchange of one sort of dis- 
quietude for another. And as the spring of happiness is found 
in our own minds, or nowhere ; so, "well ordered Home' 1 is the 
true centre of its enjoyment. Mothers, whose chief satisfaction 
lies in circles of fashion and scenes of amusement, have their 
vision wofully distorted by means of the magic spectacles. Else 
they would clearly see that the occupation .of nursing, rearing, 
and instructing their families, is what furnishes the sweetest of 
pleasures, at the same time that it is one of the first of duties. 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 369 



NUMBER LXXXVI. 

OF THE MISUSE, AND THE PEOPEE USE, OF EEADIXG. 

"Eead not to contradict or confute, nor to belieYe and take for granted, but to weigh and 

consider." 

Loed Bacox. 

The age we live in. has been remarkably a reading age. Books 
are more numerous and of more easy access, than at any former 
period ; and the number of readers has increased astonishingly 
since the middle of the last century. In a general view this h 
of good omen, for reading is one of the principal keys of know- 
ledge ; it unlocks, as it were, a mine of intellectual wealth, and 
contributes to its general diffusion. There is much reason to 
think, however, that the progress of real, sound knowledge has 
not kept pace with the progress of reading : for the slow pace of 
the former in comparison to that of the latter, there being the 
several causes which here follow. 

By reason of the abundance and superabundance of books, 
the best are commonly read superficially, and by many not read at 
16* 



370 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

all: the attentions of the reading public being distracted with such 
a boundless variety. If there were only one book in the world, and 
its copies so multiplied that it were in every one's hands, almost 
every body would have it by heart. Or, if there were only a few 
books, and they accessible to all, those few would be pondered 
and studied till a considerable part of their contents were trea- 
ured up in the minds and memories of the generality of readers. 
But now that books are so numerous, the readers skip from one 
to another, without settling their attention upon any ; so that 
many who are fairly entitled to the credit of great reading, are 
very little improved in their intellectual faculties. They eagerly 
devour books, but properly digest and appropriate scarcely any 
thing therein, and their minds are plethoric, but destitute of 
vigor. 

Besides this, with the bulk of the bookish tribe, reading has 
become an idle amusement rather than a serious and laborious 
occupation. They read for pleasure more than for profit. The 
acquirement of a fund of really useful knowledge scarcely comes 
within the scope of their object, which is chiefly to beguile the 
tedious hours by furnishing food for the imagination. And hence 
it is, that no books are so palatable, or so generally read, and 
with so much eagerness, as the lighter compositions which are 
fraught with amusement, but are barren of sound instruction. A 
novel even of the lowest cast, finds more readers than a serious 
work of great merit. 

Moreover, the perpetual influx of new books has occasioned a 
raging appetite for novelty of some kind or other, no matter what ; 
so that the attention of most readers is directed rather to what is 
new, than to what is valuable and excellent. This kind of curi 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 371 

ositv is insatiable ; for the more it is fed. the more it craves. 
Old authors are neglected because they are old, and new ones 
engross the attention because they are new. The standard com- 
positions of former ages are cast aside as lumber; while a new 
pretender, with less than a fourth part of their abilities, is sure 
to find a momentary welcome at least. 

From these causes it happens, that a great deal of reading does 
by no means imply a great stock of valuable knowledge. On the 
contrary, it often leaves the mind empty of almost every thing 
but vanity ; none being more vain, or more intolerable, than 
those who, having learned by rote a multitude of maxims and 
facts, deal them out by the gross, on all occasions, and in all com- 
panies. The food which they have derived from reading lies in 
their minds undigested, and while it occasions a preternatural 
tumor there, it gives neither growth nor strength. Their read- 
ing has scarcely brought into exercise any one of the intellectu- 
al faculties besides the memory, which has been loaded and kept 
in perpetual action, whilst their understandings and judgments 
remain dormant. They are proud that they have read so much, 
but have reason rather to be ashamed that they know so little. 

One who would really profit by reading must take heed what 
he reads, and how. 

The use of reading is to render one more wise and virtuous, 
rather than more learned ; and that point is to be gained, not so 
much from the quantity, as the quality of the books which we 
peruse. No single individual has leisure enough, nor is any life 
long enough, for a thorough perusal of even the tenth part of the 
books now extant in the English language. A selection is, therefore, 
necessary, and much depends upon making it judiciously. An 



372 THE RRIEF EEMARKEE 

inconsiderable number of well chosen and well studied books, will 
enable one to make far greater advances in real knowledge, than 
lightly skimming over hundreds of volumes taken up indiscrimi- 
nately. 

In reading, attention is to be paid also to the How. as well 
as to the What. The proper object of reading is not merely to 
inform us of what others think, but also to furnish us with ma- 
terials for thinking ourselves, or for the employment and exercise 
of our judgments and understandings, and of all our intellectual 
and moral faculties. It is not enough that it supplies us with a 
multitude of facts : for the knowledge of facts is valuable to us 
chiefly for the inferences that we ourselves may draw from them, 
or because they furnish us with the means of exercising and ex- 
erting our own powers in the way of comparing, reasoning, and 
judging, and of drawing sound conclusions of the future from the 
past. 

Knowledge cannot be bequeathed as a patrimony, or pur- 
chased with money ; there is no other way to obtain it but by 
close attention and labor of the mind. Whoever would get know- 
ledge in any uncommon degree, must seek for it as for silver. 
If it be a toil, it is one that is sweetened with pleasures peculiar- 
ly its own. Indeed it is questionable whether it would be so 
well for us if we could get learning without labor ; for one of the 
essential benefits of education is, that it inures the mind to apply 
itself steadily to any thing that requires its particular attention 
in a word, it tends to form the precious habit of calling home om 
wandering thoughts at pleasure, and bringing them to a point. 

After all, book learning alone is insufficient for human con 
cerns. To use a quotation from Dr. Johnson : " Books, says Ba 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 373 

con, can never teach the use of books. The student must learn 
lommerce with mankind to reduce his speculations to practice, 
and accommodate his knowledge to the purposes of life.'* 

One observation more I will make, and hope it may be care- 
fully heeded. "We err no less in not turning to good account 
what we know, than in neglecting to increase our stock of know- 
ledge. What doth it profit though a man have much knowledge, 
if he is not better, more wise and virtuous in his conduct, and 
more useful to the community ? If it makes him but the worse, 
he turns the blessing to a curse. 



374 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER LXXXVII. 

OF EXCESSIVE AND INDISCRIMINATE NOYEL BEADING. 

The age we live in, may justly be called the age of Novels and 
of Novelists. This brotherhood and sisterhood of writers are of 
modern origin. If we except the romances of the middle ages — 
who, by the by, however wild and extravagant they appear, are 
thought to exhibit pretty correct delineations of the coarseness, 
ferociousness, and brutality of the manners of their times — if we 
except those old romances, there were few novelists of any note 
prior to about the middle of the last century. 

It was then that Fielding, and Richardson, and Smollett ap- 
peared before the public : an astonishing trio, whose brilliance of 
genius, command of language, and distinct insight into the feel- 
ings and passions of the human heart, enabled them to adorn 
their pages with fascinating charms. To the works of these ge- 
niuses there succeeded swarms of imitators of each sex, and of ev- 
ery grade, as well in Germany as in Britain : so that the reading 
world, for the last thirty years, has been inundated, as it were, 
with novels, of which every one finds readers. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 375 

It is an obvious fact, that books of no other kind are read with 
so much eagerness by the American youth of both sexes, as nov- 
els, or narratives of feigned incidents, characters and scenery ; 
for though they seldom tempt to a second reading, they as sel- 
dom fail of being read once. In this respect, it makes very little 
difference whether a novel be the fruit of genius, or of hair- 
brained folly ; whether it has the stamp of learning, or proceeds 
from the pen of conceited ignorance : whether it sketches real 
life, or outstrips the extravagance of Bedlam : — if the thing be 
but new, it is earnestly inquired for. and eagerly perused. 

And where lies the harm ? Not in the nature of this species 
of writing, for it is not censurable in itself. We have the highest 
of all authorities for the use of parables : they have been made 
the vehicle for conveying moral truth in the most cogent and cap- 
tivating, and. at the same time, the most inoffensive manner. 
Apologues and fables are worthy of praise rather than blame, 
if framed with ingenuity, and made of manifest tendency to pro- 
mote good morals. And the like may be said of the species of 
writing that goes under the denomination of novels : it is not 
censurable as a species of composition, but as a species of com- 
position that has been generally and deplorably perverted by 
misuse. It is not to be denied that a novel may be so fash- 
ioned by well-directed talent, as to blend amusement with in- 
struction, entertainment with the moral improvement of the 
mind ; nor is it to be affirmed that there are no instances of this 
happy combination ; some there are, though comparatively few. 
But the harm of novel reading, carried to the excess of extrava- 
gance to which the present age has carried it, lies partly at least 



376 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

in the following particulars, which my limits will allow me barely 
to mention. 

1. Passing over the baser sort of novels, or such as have a 
direct tendency to deprave the mind and the heart, it may be con- 
fidently affirmed that the greater part of the rest, though they pro- 
fess to have a moral purpose, do in no measure inculcate pure 
Christian morals, but those of a spurious kind ; the standard of 
their morality being very little higher, if any, than that of the 
highest order of the pagan school. 

2. There is always danger, especially as regards youth, of cul- 
tivating the imagination too much, and the more solid faculties of 
our nature too little ; and it is of the nature of most novels to 
produce this effect : they expand and bloat the imagination with- 
out informing the understanding, or maturing the judgment. 

3. The pictures of life given in novels, are not usually those 
of common, but of high life ; and they can be, therefore, of no 
practical use at all to persons who are not destined to move in 
the highest circles. On the other hand, they tend to sophisticate 
their manners as well as their morals; the manners of dukes 
and duchesses being widely remote from what should be the 
manners of plain men and women. 

4. Novel-readers, unless gifted with a more than ordinary 
fund of sound sense, are prone to slide into a romantic habit of 
thinking, and to cherish extravagant expectations. Finding in 
the books they are most accustomed to, a series of preternatural 
events ; astonishing effects produced without even a shadow of 
cause ; persons suddenly raised, as by magic, from humble cir- 
cumstances to boundless opulence and loftiness of rank ; — finding 
in the books which they ponder by day and through the vigils of 



UN THE WAYS OF MAN. 377 

the night, a perpetual recurrence of such unearthly scenery de- 
scribed in glowing language ; it is no wonder that they cherish pre- 
posterous hopes ; nor is it a wonder if they become disgusted with 
the homely scenes and occupations of ordinary life, and look with 
contempt upon every situation, enjoyment, or connection, that is 
actually attainable by them. 

5. If novels have the good effect of beguiling the young into 
a passion for reading, they have, also, not unfrequently, the bad 
effect of so enervating their minds that there is left them neither 
industry, nor relish for sober history, or for any thing else that 
requires the labor of their understandings and judgments. 

6. This kind of reading has a tendency to vitiate the taste, 
as well in regard to style as to sentiment. The readers of nov- 
els — they who read them indiscriminately or without selection — 
are accustomed to a style nauseously sweet, or vapidly towering : 
consisting of spangled heaps of words and images, which smother 
the sense, where sense there is. Thus accustomed, their feelings 
are no less repugnant to plain sober language than to plain sober 
sense. 

It does by no means follow from what has been said, that pa- 
rents and instructors should lay their children under an absolute 
interdiction with respect to the reading of novels. For, not to 
mention that such is the texture of our general nature that pro- 
hibition has a stimulating power, so that if a book never so worth- 
less were prohibited by law, almost every body would wish to 
read it ; — there are, no doubt, some novels, which might be put 
into the hands of the young, with safety, and to their real advan- 
tage. The danger lies in reading them indiscriminately or with- 
out selection, and in making them a principal part of reading. — 



378 THE BKIEF REMARKER 

'• Those novels which paint the manners and character of the body 
of mankind, and affect the reader with the relation of misfortunes 
that may befall himself," may be perused, now and then, not only 
as an amusement, but as a profitable study ; — yet, after all, it 
is real life, with which we must chiefly have to do. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 379 



NUMBER LXXXVIII. 

OF THE IMPASSABLE AND UNALTERABLE LIMITS TO THE PLEASURES OF 

SENSE. 

The pleasures of sense, common to all animal natures, can admit 
of very little increase by the refinements of art, and, at the same 
time, are bounded and limited by impassable barriers. I say 
impassable barriers, for you no sooner have overleaped them than 
the pleasure is gone, and satiety, disgust, or some kind or other of 
painful dissatisfaction, succeeds to its place. 

Sweet as is the light, too much of it would instantly destroy 
the organ of vision. Pleasant as it is to see the sun, yet to look 
steadfastly upon him in his meridian glory, would cause pain, and 
even blindness. The light of that luminary, by which alone we 
see the innumerable objects that are visible to us, is colored ; else 
our feeble organ of sight could endure it scarcely for a moment. 
For what if the whole sky, the whole earth, and every object 
above and around us, shone with the unmingled brightness of un- 
colored light ? In that case, the light itself would become dark- 
ness, since every eye must instantly be blinded by it. 

And as with sight, so with hearing. A sound that is too 



380 THE BRIEF BEMARKEil 

strong and forcible, deafens the ear. Nay, even the most sweet 
and harmonious sounds, when long continued, or very often re- 
peated, become indifferent to the ear, if not tiresome. 

In like manner, the smell is sickened with perpetual fra- 
grance, and the palate surfeited by overmuch sweetness. 

Even the joy of mere animal nature, when it exceeds the just 
bounds, becomes a disturber. Overmuch joy of this sort, is in- 
quietude ; it banishes quiet sleep as effectually as pungent grief. 

Hence it falls out. agreeably to the established constitution of 
our nature, that scarcely any persons lead more unpleasant lives 
than those who pursue pleasure with the most eagerness. And 
so it must needs be, because their over eagerness of desire, by 
spurring them on to perpetual excess, turns their pleasures to 
pains, and their very recreations to scenes of wearisome drudgery. 

If Solomon had not told us from his own experience, that such 
a course of life is not only vanity, but vexation of spirit ; yet the 
world abounds with instances to prove and illustrate it. — Of these 
I will now cite two eminent ones of the last age. 

Richard Nash, Esq., — commonly called Beau Nash — who 
died, 1781, aged eighty-seven, was Master of the Ceremonies, or 
King of Bath, for the space of nearly half a century. His body 
was athletic, his constitution strong and healthy, and his ruling 
passions were vanity, and keenness of desire for fashionable dissi- 
pation. To his darling wishes the means of indulgence exactly 
and altogether corresponded. Presiding over the amusements of 
the courtiers, and nobility, and gentry of England, he gratified 
his vanity with the finery and costliness of his apparel, and with 
the implicit obedience paid to his orders : and whilst employed in 
providing banquets of pleasure for his voluptuous guests, he sel- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 381 

dom neglected bis opportunities of carving plenteously for hiim- 
self. — Beau Nash, enjoyed what is called pleasure, for a greater 
length of time, and refined upon it more exquisitely, than perhaps 
any other man that is now among the living or the dead. Yct : 
setting aside all the awful considerations of futurity, no one that 
reads the story of his life with any degree of sound reflection, will 
be led to think that he had more real enjoyment of it, than falls 
to the ordinary lot of mankind, or even near so much. A biog. 
rapher of Nash, in speaking of the latter stages of his life, ob- 
serves : " He was now past the period of giving or receiving pleas- 
ure, for he was poor, old and peevish ; yet still he was incapable 
of turning from his former manner of life to pursue happiness. 
The old man endeavored to practise the follies of the boy ; and 
he seemed willing to find lost appetite among the scenes where 
he once was young. " 

A remarkable counterpart to the life of Mr. Nash, is that of 
Mademoiselle de L'Espinasse; which clearly shows that the most 
unhappy of women are those who have no taste for simple domes- 
tic comforts. 

It is related of this most accomplished French lady, who had 
been the unrivalled leader of fashion in France, during a part of 
the last century, " That she not only lived, but almost died, in 
public ; that while she was tortured with disease, and her heart 
so torn with agonizing passions as frequently to turn her thoughts 
on suicide, she dined out and made visits every day ; and that, 
when she was visibly within a few weeks of her end, and was 
wasted with coughs and with spasms, she still had her saloon filled 
twice a day with company, and dragged herself out to supper with 
all the countesses of her acquaintance." 



382 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

To be temperate in all things, is as really a matter of interest 
as of duty. If there were even no unlawfulness in excess, nor any 
punishment following it in the coming world, yet it ever brings 
with it a punishment here ; a punishment that more than counter- 
vails the enjoyment. And, on the other hand, if there were neither 
virtue nor duty in moderation of enjoying the pleasures of sense, 
yet it carries along with it its own reward, as it is the only way 
of deriving from those pleasures all the satisfaction which it is of 
their nature to give. So that to enjoy innocently, and in strict 
conformity to the rules of reason and of our holy religion, results 
ordinarily in a greater amount of real pleasure, than is to be 
found by the epicure or the voluptuary. It is excellently ob- 
served by Doctor Reid, on the Mind — " If one could by a soft 
and luxurious life, acquire a more delicate sensibility to pleasure, 
it must be at the expense of a like sensibility to pain, from which 
he can never promise himself exemption ; and at the expense of 
cherishing many diseases which produce pain." 

Beware of Pleasure ! The envenomed serpent couches under 
the gay and fragrant flower. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 383 



NUMBER LXXXIX. 

OF THE DIFFEKENCE BETWEEN IGXOKANCE AXD A NATURAL WEAKNESS 

OF TTXDEESTAXDIXG. 

Atlhough ignorance and foolishness are near akin, there is, 
nevertheless, a material difference between them ; the former con- 
sisting in the destitution of what is called learning, and the latter 
in narrowness or weakness of the understanding. 

Some ignorant men, or, in other words, some men of little or 
no learning, manifest strength of memory, clearness of con- 
ception, and soundness of judgment ; and, within the narrow com- 
pass of their own observation, their remarks are just, and some- 
times profound. Though not capable of reasoning exactly accord- 
ing to the rules of logic, yet they do reason conclusively, and 
not unfrequently, by a native plainness and directness of under- 
standing, they reach the point by the shortest way. In defiance 
of bad grammar and uncouth phraseology, there is discoverable 
in them a mine of intellectual lore which, had it been properly 
worked and refined, might have enriched and adorned society. 

On the other hand, some learned men are foolish after all. 



Q 



84 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



When a strong memory is coupled with a weak understanding, 
(which is a union neither impossible, nor quite uncommon) — in 
such a case, though a great deal of learning is attainable, the 
possessor is not much the wiser for it ; and as to the unfortunate 
wights who are constrained to keep him company, they are rather 
plagued than profited by his learning. He is incessantly throw- 
ing it in their faces, and gorging them with it even to surfeiting. 
The garner of his memory is ample, and it is full ; every thing is 
there, but nothing in its right place : and having no faculty of 
discrimination, he more often brings out of his treasury, for use 
or for show, the wrong thing than the right. If you want of him 
only a string of tape, he measures you off whole yards of brocade. 
He must needs pour forth a flood of learning upon every thing, 
and to every body ; and he lectures upon literature and science, 
and quotes scrap after scrap from the ancients, without any re- 
gard to time, or place, or company. 

In the course of the last age, one of this sort, namely, Dr. 
George, of London, a most eminent Greek scholar, who knew 
little else but Greek, expressed his wonder at the fame of Fred- 
erick of Prussia. " For my part," quoth the Doctor, " I cannot 
regard Frederick as a truly great man, for I doubt his being able 
so much as to conjugate one of the Greek verbs ;" — and the 
learned Grecian proceeded to name to the company a particular 
verb, which he thought would be more than a match for his 
Majesty's head. 

This species of pedantry, which was more prevalent, by 
many degrees, at some former times than at the present, is keen- 
ly satirized in the following lines of Winne's translation of Boi- 
leau. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 385 

''Brimful of learning see that pedant stride, 
Bristling with horrid Greek, and puff'd with pride! 
A thousand authors he in vain has read, 
And with their maxims stuff d his empty head ; 
And thinks that, without Aristotle's rule, 
Reason is blind, and common sense a fool." 

Learned foolishness, is more egregiously foolish than the folly 
of ignorance. It is wayward, positive, and imperious; too con- 
ceited and indocile to be informed, and too obstinate to forsake 
error. Men, distempered with this kind of foolishness, imagine 
themselves wise overmuch, because they have read a great many 
books, and can repeat, in more than one language, perhaps, what 
others have said and written: whereas, they are like a gourmand, 
whose digestive faculties bear no proportion to the largeness of 
his swallow. They task and load the memory, without exercising 
the judgment. They lay up in the memory, facts heaped upon 
facts, without order and without distinction ; — and these are in 
the memory only — the noble powers of the understanding being 
not at all, or very little, occupied about them. 

Learning, in itself, is not wisdom. " We may be learned from 
the thoughts of others ; — wise we cannot be but from our own." 

The foregoing observations are, in no wise, disparaging to the 
legitimate honors of learning. For what though in some it pro- 
duces the pedantry of conceited weakness, and what though as to 
others it is perverted to vile jmrposes 1 Learning itself is not to 
blame ; nor is it the less excellent for these disfiguring excres- 
cences, which no more belong to it than doth a wen to the proper 
form of the human body. 

Literature, conjoined with science, and resulting in a high 
17 



386 THE BRIEF IlEMARKER 

degree of civilization, is the procurer of all the embellishments 
and delights, and of most of the conveniences and comforts of our 
present condition ; the civilized world being raised now almost 
as much above the condition it stood in, when classical learning 
was first rising on Europe, in the fifteenth century, as it then 
was above that of the hordes of roaming savages. Add to this, 
that the pleasure of learning, like that of religion, is not confined 
to time or place, nor dependent upon the smiles of fortune. It 
may be enjoyed in solitude, in penury, and in old age ; which 
last does sometimes, if not often, increase rather than diminish 
it. 

In conclusion ; having observed above, that learning furnishes 
food or materials for thought, I will venture to recommend to 
readers an excellent rule, taken from the practice of a very emi- 
nent man of the last age. It is this : — In reading, observe the 
course of your thoughts rather than of your books. Sometimes 
your reading will give occasion to a thought, not connected with 
the subject which your book treats of ; and in such a case, drop 
the course of your reading, and follow the course of the thought 
that has been started. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 387 



NUMBER XC. 



OF EVIL THINKING. 



i: He that would seriously set upon the search of truth," says 
the great Locke, a ought in the first place to prepare his mind 
with a love of it : for he that loves it not, will not take much 
pains to get it, nor be much concerned when he misses it. There 
is nobody in the commonwealth of learning who does not profess 
himself a lover of truth : and there is not a rational creature that 
would not take it amiss to be thought otherwise of. And yet, for 
all this, one may truly say, there are very few lovers of truth for 
truth's sake, even amongst those who persuade themselves that 
they are so. How a man may know whether he be so in earnest, 
is worth inquiry, and I think there is one unerring mark of it, viz. 
the not entertaining any proposition with greater assurance, than 
the proofs it is built upon will warrant." 

These weighty sentiments, so worthy to be carried with us 
in all our secular, and in all our moral and religious concerns, 



388 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

are particularly applicable to the subject of evil-thinking. 
Downright, wilful slander is considered on all hands as a detes- 
table vice ; and a person, habitually guilty of it in its grossness, 
is marked as a foe to society. A man, a woman, or a family that 
is notoriously infected with this foul malady, is watched as care- 
fully as is a pickpocket, or a common cheat. But it unhappily 
falls out that, although gross, wilful slander commonly meets 
with the reprobation it merits, yet what is nearly related to it, 
passes with very little censure or remorse. — I mean the taking 
up a reproach against one's neighbor, or believing an ill report 
of another upon slight grounds, or without sufficient evidence. 

The commonness of this fault seems to evince a strong pre- 
disposition to it in our very nature. It is a remark of the great 
British moralist, Dr. Johnson, that i: there are two causes of be- 
lief ; Evidence and Inclination." When we are in no manner 
inclined to believe a thing, we naturally require full evidence of 
it before we yield our credence : and, on the other hand, when 
we are powerfully inclined to believe, we can do so, not only 
without evidence, but against it. Hence it would seem, that we 
naturally have a strong inclination to believe or think ill of oth- 
ers, since we so often do it on no real proof, or on what is next 
to none. 

How happens it that, even in welhordered society, scandal 
flies as upon the wings of the wind ? That it so quickly spreads 
over a whole neighborhood, parish or town ? That it continues 
to widen its circle from day to day, till every body knows it save 
one, to wit, the very person scandalized 1 — Does not this argue a 
general love of scandal ? — Perhaps you will say No ; and will 
hold, that two or three tale-bearers or busy-bodies may have done 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 389 

the whole mischief. But how could they have done it, if they 
had not found a multitude of ears to listen to their tale, and a 
multitude of tongues to aid them in its circulation ? As there 
would be no thieves of one kind, if there were no receivers of 
stolen goods, so there would be no tale-bearers, if there were no 
eager listeners to their buzz ; and as the receiver is as bad as 
the thief, so the eager listener to groundless scandal, is well-nigh 
as bad as its author, or at least possesses some portion of the same 
depravity of feeling and temper. 

No one has travelled very far upon the journey of life, and 
been an observant traveller, who has not noticed the manner, in 
which, for a while, this "pestilence walketh in darkness," and 
then bui-sts forth into open day. The foul report is for some time 
communicated in whispers, accompanied with solemn injunctions of 
secrecy. Every one professes to hope it is not true, and yet every 
one whispers it to every one's acquaintance. At length it be- 
come^ a common report; a matter of public notoriety. It is in 
every body's mouth, and every body must believe it; because, 
according to one orthodox old saying, " What every body says, 
must be true ; " and according to another of equally sacred author- 
ity) " Where there is much smoke, there must be some fire." It 
is a settled point. In the public opinion, the case is decided, 
and the defamed party is cast off. All are of one mind, that 
there must be something in it; though, here' and there, one 
charitable body or another, expresses a faint hope that the affair 
may not turn out to be quite so scandalous as it is represented. 

Last of all, after the lapse of months, it reaches the astonished 
ears of the person most immediately concerned. It is sifted, 
a :d turns out a sheer fabrication, invented and first put in circu- 



390 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

latiou by Nobody. Search is made in vain for the author, who 
lies snugly concealed amidst the multitude. 

Well, then the matter is cleared up, and all the slur is wiped 
away at last from the character of the defamed. Not exactly so, 
nor indeed can it be. Some are no less loath to disbelieve, than 
they were forward to believe. Some who pretend to be very 
glad at the result, secretly wish it had been a little otherwise. 
Some have their doubts still ; and some, again, have no inclina- 
tion to examine the disproof of the calumny, though they had 
swallowed it with a voracious appetite. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 391 



NUMBER XCI. 

OF TE EATING CHILDEEN WITH EXCESSIVE SEVEEITY. 

In the excellent little tract of Dr. Cotton Mather's, entitled, 
" Essays to do Good," the venerable author lays down for him- 
self the following rule, in regard to his treatment of children : 
" will never use corporeal punishment except it be for an atro- 
cious cri?ne y or for a smaller fault obstinately persisted in" A 
maxim which deserves to be written in golden characters, or 
rather, and far better, to be engraven upon the hearts of parents, 
and instructors of schools. Nor is it at all inconsistent with the 
maxim in Holy Writ, u He that spareth the rod hateth his son.' 1 
For, by no fair interpretation, can this last be made to mean, that 
the discipline of the rod is necessary in any cases other than the 
aforementioned. 

Obedience is the first lesson to be inculcated upon childhood. 
Ere it can discern between good and evil, the child should be 
taught to obey. Then it is that the task is comparatively easy, 
and may be effected by a small measure of prudent enforcement. 
No restraint, however, should be imposed upon childhood, but 



392 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

such as is salutary, and of obvious necessity. All and every needless 
restraint is tyrannous in its nature, and hurtful in its consequences. 
The child should be habituated to passive obedience, and, at the 
same time, be permitted to enjoy freedom of action in things indif- 
ferent ; — to speak as a child, to act as a child, — to be lively and 
playsome as a child. One, whose childhood is closely held in 
trammels, whose merely childish things incur rebukes and frowns, 
is full likely to make a licentious use of freedom when it arrives, 
or else to be a mopus all his days. 

Children should be carefully guarded against every species of 
useless vexation. 

" Provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discour- 
aged." Lay upon them none but necessary and wholesome re- 
strictions. Never cross them for the mere sake of showing your 
authority. Reclaim with a lenient hand their involuntary er- 
rors. Mark not against them with a severe eye their trivial ab- 
errations. Be no less ready to commend their well-doing than to 
blame them for doing ill, Otherwise, the obedience paid you 
will be uncheerful, constrained, and slavish. If you are of a fault- 
finding temper, you will occasion the very faults you seek after. 
Your children, out of despair of pleasing you, will become re- 
gardless both of your pleasure and displeasure, except in so far 
as they are influenced by slavish fear. 

As to stubbornness, or obstinate disobedience, " this kind go- 
eth not out " but by severe discipline. It must be mastered by 
blows if nothing else will do, and the earlier the better, But for 
the rest, mild and persuasive methods are far preferable. 

Over young minds, the law of love might be made to have a 
much more powerful influence than the penal law. Much more 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 393 

easily are they drawn and guided by their affections than driven 
by their fears ; the tenor of the former being spontaneous, steady, 
and uniform : while the latter operate only by occasional excite- 
ment. You have the fastest hold of the child that you hold by 
" the cords of love." By these cords you can draw him with ease. 
Delighting to please, and of course dreading to offend you. it is 
in your power to imprint in his mind indelible characters ; to 
weed out his wayward propensities ; to awaken his emulation : to 
stimulate his industry; and to mould him to sentiments aad habits, 
preparatory to excellence in after life. But fear alone is an unnat- 
ural and odious tie, which the child is ever desirous to break loose 
from. It stimulates indeed, but not in the manner to produce 
those ingenuous sentiments and feelings, which are the founda- 
tion of excellence in character. 

Experience abundantly shows, that degrading punishment has 
rather a pernicious, than a salutary effect, upon the minds of full- 
grown persons. Few culprits, if any, were ever made better by 
means of the whipping-post and the stocks, or by cropping their 
ears, or in fixing a brand of infamy upon the forehead or hand. 
Instead of being led to amendment by these means, they generally 
are made the more desperate and abandoned, by reason that they 
view their characters as irretrievably lost. So that, after having 
gone through one of these ordeals of shame, they ever after are 
utterly shameless. 

Now it should be remembered, that children are as men and 
women in miniature ; possessed of the like passions, and particularly 
of the like feelings of honor and disgrace. Moreover, in chil- 
dren the most promising, these feelings are the most acute. 
They have a keen sensibility to shame, whereof a good use may 
17* 



394 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

be made by prudent management ; but if this sensibility be 
put to hard proof, and that frequently, it becomes blunted, and 
their minds grow callous. .And a child that is lost to shame, 
and to all self-respect, is in peculiar danger of being a lost child. 

And besides, none are more unpitiful and cruel than those 
who have been brought up under the cruellest discipline, which 
seldom fails to blunt their feelings, and produce hardness of 
heart and ferociousness of temper. The cruellest of slave-drivers 
are those that had been bred slaves, and had daily felt the 
smart of the lash. And by parity of reason, children that are 
trained up under parents or governors, who carry punishment 
beyond the bounds of kind correction into those of vengeance, 
and who delight to inflict such punishment as attaches infamy, 
must needs possess more than a common measure of native 
amiability, if in the end they turn out sweet-tempered, humane 
and of a nice sense of honor. 

I will conclude with the words of the great Locke. — u To 
break the spirits of children by too severe usage, is to them a 
greater injury than the opposite extreme of indulgence, for there 
is more hope, that a wild undisciplined spirit will become order- 
ly, than of raising up one made abject and heartless by severity 
of discipline." 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 395' 



NUMBEE XCII. 

OF DRAWING AND FIXING THE ATTENTION OF CHILDREN. 

The great Locke, a man of almost unrivalled depth and acuteness 
of understanding, in his excellent treatise on Education, express- 
es himself as here follows : — " He that has found a way how to 
keep up a child's spirit easy, active, and free, and yet, at the 
same time, to restrain him from many things he has a mind to, 
and to draw him to things that are uneasy to him ; he, I say, 
that knows how to reconcile these seeming contradictions, has, in 
my opinion, got the true secret of education." 

This is a sentiment of no ordinary importance. Xo less just 
than profound, it is entitled to the strict regard of parents, of 
preceptors, and of all who have the management of children. 

The true power over children, is that of swaying their incli- 
nations ; the power of withdrawing their inclinations from one 
direction, and settling them down in another. It is not hard 
words, nor hard blows, that can gain this point. The will is 
wrought upon by other methods. Of many examples that might 
go to illustrate this matter, I will adduce one, and a notable one. 



396 THE BRIEF BEMAEKEK 

Horatio Nelson, so famous in naval history, had at first an 
utter aversion to the sea ; of which, in no long time, he came to 
be extravagantly fond. And what miracle, or magic, wrought 
this change in him ? It was wrought neither by miracle nor by 
magic, but by a very natural process. The captain, who was his 
uncle, caressed the boy, treated him with familiarity and confi- 
dence, and not unfrequently consulted him as if he were a man, 
and his equal. This management enkindled in him the dormant 
sparks of genius and emulation, and changed, as it were, his in- 
ward frame. He was quite another boy. From being diffident 
and sheepish, he at once became most active and enterprising; 
and from loathing the service, his whole inclination was bent 
upon excelling in it. Had his boyhood fallen into different 
hands, he might probably have turned out a very different 
character. Nor would it, perhaps, be too much to assert, that 
the victory of the Nile, was an event in connection with the im- 
pressions made on the tender years of Nelson by Captain Suck- 
ling. 

In whatever you would teach your children, the main thing is 
to bring their minds to it in good earnest ; after which, the rest 
is easy. In their play they are all ali^e active, because they all 
love it ; and so it would be as to their learning, if they could be 
once brought to love that as well as they love play. For it is 
generally for want of attention, rather than of sufficient faculties, 
that children are dull to learn ; and in exciting and fixing their 
attention, the great art of the teacher lies. 

Now the habit of attention, that is y attention of the genuine 
sort, is seldom, or never, wrought in them by operating merely 
upon their fears. The dread of pain might indeed force them 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 397 

on to the performance of their task, but still they would perform 
it as a task, and with any other feelings than those of delight : 
whereas the proper attention springs from a real delight in the 
thiDg they are about. This is wrought in them by awakening 
the more generous feelings of their nature — the love of esteem, 
and the desire of excelling. It is what requires skill, patient 
industry, and able management ; while, on the other hand, to make 
children attentive, after a sort, to their learning, by means of 
menaces and stripes, is a short, easy, and lazy method, requiring 
as little of trouble, as of talent : but always falling wofully short 
of the true mark. 

And as in learning, so in whatever reputable and useful em- 
ployment else, the young mind, by skilful management, might be 
made to prefer it, and to take more pleasure in it than in doing 
nothing. The busiest age is that of childhood. It is then 
they are most inclined to be ever about something, and 
make it their chief delight to keep moving. This seems to 
furnish clear proof that industry is natural to our species ; in 
which case, education has little else to do than to give it a 
proper direction. Children, who of their own accord play 
with unweariable industry, might always, perhaps, be induced to 
apply themselves, at the proper age, with the like spontaneous 
industry, to things of importance. But then, in order Jo it, their 
inclinations must be led, rather than forced. Play itself would 
presently become irksome and disgustful to children, if they 
were driven to it, and kept at it, by main force. And much 
less can you expect that they will be diligent and active 
in business, unless you so prevail over their inclinations, as that 
they choose it of their own free will : a thing of no great difficul- 



398 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

ty, for the most part, if it be set about in season, and conducted 
with prudence. 

There is a great difference between lumpish laziness, and 
frisky idleness. One who is too lazy to move himself about, is 
diseased in the very core, and there is no help for him. Of such 
however the number is small. Whereas the numerous tribe of 
idlers, or of such as spend their time without profit to themselves 
or others, are generally, nevertheless, frivolously busy, and 
quite active in their own way ; and had they been tutored 
aright in their early years, their natural activity might have 
turned to excellent account. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 399 



NUMBER XCIII. 



OF BALANCING THE PEINCIPLES OF HOPE AND FEAE IN THE GOVERN- 
ANCE OF CHILDEEN. 



Hopes and Fears are the great springs of human actions ; and 
though seemingly standing in opposition to one another, they 
jointly contribute to the accomplishment of the same ends. 
Hope that is altogether fearless, acts with rashness, or sinks into 
torpitude ; but accompanied with fear, it is vigilant as well as 
diligent. On the other hand, fear unaccompanied with hope, is 
despair : and despair furnishes no stimulation at all to enter- 
prise. It is by the due balancing of these two grand principles, 
Hope and Fear, that the human species is governed, and stimu- 
lated to actions tending to the preservation of the individuals, 
and to the general weal. 

Our holy Religion, itself, addresses alike our hopes and our 
fears. Every well-principled and well-poised civil government, 
is calculated to operate upon each of these masterly principles of 
our nature. And it is with a nice regard to these universal and 
powerful principles, that children are to be governed and man- 
aged in families and schools. 



400 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

It requires no inconsiderable skill in parents, as well as faith- 
fulness, to qualify them for the all-important task of governing 
their children. Tacitus, the Roman historian, remarked of Agri- 
cola, that " he governed his family ; which many find a harder 
task than to govern a province." And why is this task so hard ? 
Not because it is altogether difficult of itself, but mainly because 
parental affection runs into error, one way or the other. On the 
one hand, we are blind to the faults of our children, and spoil 
them by indulgence ; or, on the other, from the desire of rearing 
our children to an ideal perfection, and of exalting them above 
the condition of childhood and of human nature itself, we mark 
in them even the pettiest of trespasses, with a keenness of se- 
verity that chills their hopes, and either breaks their spirits, or 
renders them restless and refractory. The Golden Mean between 
the extreme of indulgence and the extreme of rigor, is what few 
parents clearly discern and steadfastly pursue. 

Preceptors, or instructors of schools, are, for the time being, 
the foster parents of the children committed to their tutorage. 
And though they lack that yearning of affection that is felt by 
the real parent, they are, for this very reason, the less apt to 
swerve from the golden mean I just now mentioned ; provided 
they possess all the requisite qualifications for their business. 
These requisite qualifications are generally thought of easy at- 
tainment, and so indeed would they be, if they consisted only in 
a competent measure of learning, along with rectitude of moral 
character : but all this, though absolutely needful, is quite insuffi- 
cient of itself. Superadded to a competent ability to teach, 
there must be considerable skill in governing and managing a 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 401 

school ; otherwise, time and labor will be in a great measure 
lost. 

An eminent degree of this kind of skill, is no less precious 
than rare. One who, besides possessing in full measure all the 
other requisites, is an adept in the science of managing a school : 
who knows the avenues to the minds and hearts of his pupils ; 
who can seize alike upon their hopes, their fears, their emulation, 
and combine these jarring affections, and, as by mechanical 
force, can make them all minister together for improvement ; 
who has the faculty of encouraging the timid, of giving hope to 
the despondent, of repressing exuberant vanity, of quickening 
the dull, and of teaching " the young idea how to shoot," even in 
minds backward to learn : — an instructor thus gifted, and pos- 
sessed withal of excellence of moral character, together with a 
sincere affection for his pupils, and a fondness for his calling, is one 
of the most useful, and ought to be regarded as one of the 
most estimable of human beings. 

Whether in families, or in schools, there must needs be ffov- 
eminent, else the meaus of instruction will be employed in vain. 
In these little communities, the government should be impartial 
and unwavering : firm, but mild : energetic, but not tyrannous. 

There are some, whose manner towards their children varies 
in exact proportion to the variations of their own fickle tempers. 
When in a pleasant humor themselves, they indulge them in 
every thing ; when moody, and especially when downright angry, 
they will punish for almost nothing. This sort of government, 
if government it may be called, is nearly as bad as none : it 
tends alike to discourage, and to breed contempt. 

Some seem to think that the sure way of gaining and keeping 



402 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

the affections of their children, is never to thwart their inclina- 
tions ; but experience sooner or latter discovers to them their 
mistake. Children that have been treated with unlimited indul- 
gence, often, very often, not only despise the counsels of their 
parents, but unfeelingly neglect their persons when destitute and 
needy ; the overweening indulgence given them, having soured 
their tempers, and corrupted their hearts. 

Others, running into the opposite error, apply their discipline 
altogether to the fears of their children, whom they unfortunately 
treat with stern and inflexible severity. They are feared indeed, 
but it is with a hopeless, joyless, an unaffectionate fear ; and by 
thus treating their children as if they were entirely base, they 
take the ready way to make them so. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 403 



NUMBER XCIV 

OF BREVITY IN RELATION TO SUNDRY PARTICULARS. 

Dr. Cotton Mather, of venerated memory, in order to escape the 
calamity of tedious visits, wrote over the door of his study, in 
large letters, Be short. A pithy sentence, in truth, it is, and well 
worthy of remembrance in a great many more cases than I can 
now enumerate. 

The interchange of friendly visits is one of the most precious 
sweets of life. But then, it must not be overdone : else it be- 
comes irksome and disgusting. Hence, in the book of the Wise 
Man, we meet with the following wholesome counsel; "With- 
draw thy foot from thy neighbor's house, lest he be weary of thee." 
Now the necessary discipline of the foot } which is here inculcat- 
ed, is, if I may presume to comment, of the following import : — 
Beware of spinning out your friendly visits beyond due length. 
Retire, if you perceive any necessary business which your stay 
might interrupt ; retire, ere the family, after an hour's yawning, 
begin to steal off one by one, to bed ; retire, ere plain symptoms 
of weariness appear in the countenances of the little circle you 



404 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

are visiting ; retire, ere, in some indescribable manner or other, 
it be manifested that your room would be more welcome than 
your company. When you have made your friends glad by your 
coming, stay not so long as to make them still more glad by your 
going away. 

In time long past, the lord of a manor upon one of the 
banks of the Hudson, is said to have had a way of his own to 
clear his house of visitors. When his tenants, to whom he was 
affable and courteous, seemed disposed to prolong the visits which 
they now and then made him, he dropped the Dutch tongue, and 
began to speak to them in English : whereupon, the honest 
Dutchmen, understanding the signal, hied away. 

But the sage counsel, Be short, applies not to visitors alone. 
It might be made of like precious use to authors and public 
speakers, who too often lack one valuable kind of knowledge, 
namely, li that of discerning when to have done. 1 ' 

" Tediousness," as a writer of eminent abilities observes, tl is 
the fault that most generally displeases : since it is a fault that 
is felt by all, and by all equally. You may offend your reader 
or hearer in one respect, and please him in another ; but if you 
tire him out with your tediousness you give him unmingled dis- 
gust." 

A book can do but little good if it be but little read : a des- 
tiny that befalls almost every book that is found to be unneces- 
sarily prolix and bulky. This was the error of a former age. 
The massy folios of the last century but one, folios written by men 
of great talents and astonishing learning, have lain as lumber and 
been confined to the shelves of the curious, for no other reason than 
because every thread has been spun out to the greatest possible 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 405 

length. Whereas, had the highly respectable authors learned to 
be short, or given heed to the art of compressing their thoughts, 
they never would have wanted readers. 

Writers, sometimes, eke out their subject far beyond what 
need requires, from a mistaken ambition of making a great book. 
But readers of the present age generally lean to the sentiment in 
the old Greek proverb, " A great book is a great evil." It 
frightens them : they will scarcely open it, and much less set 
themselves to the task of reading it throughout. 

Thus, in this respect, it is with books as with money. As 
small change in quick and constant circulation, does more good 
than ingots of gold and silver hoarded up, so a small book that 
has a great many readers, is, if truly a good one, of much more 
benefit than a volume of enormous bulk, which for that single 
reason is scarcely read at all. Nay, I will even venture to affirm, 
that the Bible itself would be much less read, and read with 
much less delight, were it one and indivisible. But the Bible, 
though bound together in one volume, is not a single book, but a 
collection of sixty-eight different books, all penned with brevity, 
as well as with inimitable simplicity ; and arresting the attention, 
alike by the weight of their matter and their engagingness of 
manner. 

Speak, young man, if there be need of thee, but be short — is 
a monitory saying of the son of Sirach, which, together with the 
two following short sayings of that eminent sage — Learn before 
thou speak — We may speak much and yet come short — compo- 
ses a very good recipe for young men to carry about, and make 
use of as occasion may require. 

Speeches in the forum, pleas at the bar. and even sermons, 



406 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

when they are of immoderate length, seldom fail to be tiresome. 
So that public speakers consult their own credit as little as they 
do the feelings of their hearers, when they are more solicitous to 
say much, than that every thing they do say should be to the 
purpose. 

Whether in visits, in public speaking, or in common conver- 
sation, all can discern and reprobate the fault of tediousness as 
respects others ; and yet very few are fully aware of it as re- 
spects themselves. Their own company is, forsooth, so delight- 
ful, that their visits can never tire ; they, themselves, speak so 
well, that nobody can wish them to have done ; they talk so 
charmingly that their own loquaciousness always gives entertain- 
ment rather than disgust. 

Thus it is that some men, otherwise of good sense, uncon- 
sciously give pain by their prolixity, though, in regard to the 
prolixity of any body but themselves, their taste is delicate even 
to squeamishness. 



ON TIIK WAYS OF MAN. 



NUMBER XCV. 



OF SOIME PARTICrLAES CONDUCIVE TO COXJTG-AL PEACE AXD HAFPXBE8& 



■ While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, 
Between ns two let there be peace. " 



These are the words which Milton puts into the mouth of Eve. 
to pacify and soothe her incensed husband, at the moment he 
found himself involved, along with her, in a condition of guilt and 
misery occasioned primarily by her fault; nor is there, perh: 
any thing more exquisitely pathetic in the immortal work of that 
poet. Indeed, throughout the whole speech of Eve, in the latter 
part of the tenth book of the Paradise Lost, the affectionate and 
pathetical tone in which she pleads, and her general manner, are 
such as must touch with commiseration any heart but one of 
stone. 

In the lines selected for the present motto, there is a moral, 
which comes home to the bosom of everv intelligent man and wo- 
man in the married state. Next in importance to the serenity of 
a good conscience, is the enjoyment of domestic peace. With it, 
adversity is soothed by the repose of home ; without it. prosper- 



408 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

ity is but a gilded misery. Connubial harmony sweetens as well 
as enhances the common blessings of life, while its opposite im- 
bitters whatever of enjoyment the smiles of fortune can bestow ; 
so that the " dinner of herbs " is far better in the one case, than 
the " stalled ox " in the other. 

It is not to my present purpose, however, to describe at large 
either the blissful fruits of connubial harmony, or the baneful 
consequences of domestic discord, but rather to suggest ways and 
means for securing the one and avoiding the other ; by which 
course, while shunning the beaten track of declamation, I am led 
into by-paths, or to observations very little connected. But if 
only one of these unconnected observations shall be found really 
useful, it is hoped that the reader will excuse all the rest for the 
sake of that one. 

Although marriages, to be happy, must be founded in mu- 
tual affection, yet even that essentially necessary basis is not 
sufficient to build hopes upon, without one's possessing, in addi- 
tion, a reasonable prospect of competence, — the real amount of 
which, as respects the fashionable class, is not definable by any 
fixed metes and bcrunds, being diverse according to the diversity 
of tastes and habits. It is but little that man absolutely needs ; 
and were his desires in any measure proportionate to his real 
needs, a competence would, in most instances, be of very easy 
attainment. But in the highly artificial state of society now 
existing, it unfortunately happens, that the despotic court of 
Fashion dooms very many to a life of celibacy, not for their 
want of ability to support the mere necessary expenses of a mar- 
ried state, but for want of ability to support its expenses in 
that sphere of life to which they have been accustomed, and 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 409 

from which it is their settled resolution never to descend : 



choosing rather to forego the first and sweetest of social com- 
forts, than to sink only a few degrees in Fashion's scale. Again, 
from the same cause, it happens still more unfortunately, that 
very many in the married state turn their weal into woe, and some- 
times their amity to discord, by beginning with, and persisting 
in a style of living, utterly incompatible with their fortunes or 
their incomes. Of all the sources of domestic infelicity, this is 
at present one of the most prolific. 

But to come more closely to the point in hand : — in choosing 
a wife, examine carefully whether her domestic character be es- 
timable. If her temper, her moral qualities, her deportment 
toward her parents, and the general tenor of her conduct in the 
domestic circle, speak highly in her favor, good earnest is then 
given that she will act her part well in a family of her own. 

Expect not too much from Woman. It is neither an angelical, 
nor a paradisiacal being, that you are to enter into connubial 
alliance with, but an inheritor of the infirmities of fallen nature, 
— one who, at best, has some of the ingredients of folly and 
perverseness in her composition. If then you must needs have 
a perfect wife, the better way will be to wait till you become 
perfect yourself. 

If your heart be infected with the scrofula of contempt for 
female nature, marry not at all till cured of that foul disease. 

Popinjay values himself greatly, as it would seem, upon his 
manly contempt of womankind, and particularly of his wife. In 
his estimation, almost every thing she says is foolish, and more 
than half she does is wrong. That manner on his part, has 
occasioned in her an intellectual and a moral debasement. 
18 



410 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

Treated daily with disrespect and scorn, she has lost by degrees 
almost all respect for herself. 

There are other pairs who, in this respect, are very equally 
matched. For instance, Pertinax and his conjugal mate, dis- 
pute it together all the year round about trifles, because he is 
always in the right, and she never in the wrong. They are as 
like as " cherry to cherry,' 5 in their general qualities, which are 
passably good ; and it wants only a little condescension on both 
sides, to render their union felicitous rather than otherwise. 
Fix it as a maxim in your mind, that it is of more impor- 
tance, generally speaking, for one to keep well with his wife, 
than with any other earthly friend. Acting on that maxim, and 
yet more on the sacred principle of moral and religious duty, 
ever treat your wife with heartfelt benevolence. Cast the 
mantle over the common frailties incidental to humanity ; esteem 
and cherish her better qualities, and habitually maintain a ten- 
der and sympathetic consideration for her feelings. 

Of the other sex, I crave the indulgence of hazarding the 
monition and the advice, which here follow. 

Marry not the man who is known to be unkind, contemptu- 
ous and scornful to the mother that bare him : — it will be a 
miracle if he treat his wife any better. 

Marry not a blasphemous infidel, however rich, or however 
accomplished. For, besides the weighty consideration of the con- 
taminating influence of such an alliance, he that contemns the 
G-od that made him, is not one that will give due honor to the 
wife that is subject to him. 

Marry not a profligate libertine in hopes of reforming him. 
Too feeble will be your cords to bind down the headlong passions 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 411 

of a man, alike regardless of the authority of moral principle, 
and of the opinions of all the respectable part of societ}\ 

Marry not a man because you think him one that will tamely 
submit to be ruled by you. It had been the jesting boast of 
Azuba, that she intended to make a fool of her husband. She 
was saved that trouble by chancing to wed a ready-made one ; 
but she found his obstinacy and contrariety invincible. No 
effect at all could her reasoning have on a mind incapable of 
comprehending it ; nor any effect could her persuasions have 
upon a heart ever jealous of a rival power, and the more con- 
stantly alive to suspicions for its dwelling in the dark. It is a 
fact often attested by experience, that none are more jealous of 
falling under the dominion of their wives, or more unyielding to 
their reasonable influence, than men of inferior understandings 
and pertinacious tempers. " Nothing is so dogmatical and 
inconvincible as a very shallow man, who counts himself to be 
wise." 

Sweet is power to the human heart, and as sweet to the heart 
of woman as of man. It is no wonder, therefore, that there are 
sometimes rivalries for power in domestic government, as well 
as in governments of wider extent. It is a complaint of long 
standing, that very many women would fain read St. Paul thus : 
Husbands, be obedAent to you?' ivives. A flagrant misconstruc- 
tion, which, with all the orthodox of the masculine sex, can be 
regarded as very little better than downright heresy. Neverthe- 
less, wives, who deserve the name, are entitled to much influence 
with their husbands. Nor, with husbands possessing good 
understandings and a considerable share of the benevolent 
affections, will they often fail to obtain all the influence they 



412 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

can reasonably desire, provided they take, and steadily pursue, 
the right way for it. This nice point I will illustrate by a 
living example. 

Susannah is a plain woman, of plain good sense, possessing 
neither beauty nor wit : yet her husband, a very sensible and 
worthy man, and not at all of a cringing spirit, is dotingly fond 
of her, and some even say that she governs him. And what has 
been her artifice ? None at all. Where is her ruling hand seen ? 
Nowhere. Susannah had adorned herself with "the ornament 
of a meek and quiet spirit:" and, from her bridal day, she has 
continued to wear it all along. Now, however marvellous it 
may seem to some, that same old-fashioned ornament so charms 
the husband, that he scarcely can find it in his heart to deny her, 
and much less to chide her. If he happen to be moody, as now 
and then he is, the irresistible influence of the " law of kindness 
in her tongue," presently restores him to good humor. If I 
have a correct notion of the trim of that man's mind and heart, 
no termagant of a wife, however beautiful, or artful, or accom- 
plished, could have gained half so much influence over him. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 413 



NUMBER XCVI. 



OF REGARDING ACCOMPLISHMENTS AS THE PRINCIPAL PART OF FEMALE 

EDUCATION. 



Among all the wants of humanity, few are more deplorable 
than the want of discrimination between things of great and 
things of little importance. The absence either of the exist- 
ence or of the exercise of the faculty of such discrimination, 
occasions a considerable part of the errors of life. For, not to 
speak of the fatal error of preferring the things which are temporal 
to the things that are eternal — often, very often, in merely our 
worldly concerns, we sacrifice the greater to the less. It would 
not be difficult to exemplify this sentiment in a variety of instan- 
ces ; but I will confine myself to one only — Female Education. 
We live in an age in which few, if any, whose opinons are 
worth notice, will deny the necessity of educating, and of icell 
educating the female part of our species. Passing over, there- 
fore, this point upon which there is so general an agreement, I 
will mention, and but barely mention, the primary qualities of a 
good female education. 



414 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

The great benefit of education, and what should ever be its 
ultimate design, consists in its tendency to prepare the pupils to 
act the parts allotted them with propriety, both as immortal and 
as mortal beings : and, in this view, education has an equal 
bearing upon both sexes. 

Female education, conducted upon rational principles, re- 
gards the parts that females are ordinarily destined to act upon 
the theatre of social life. Female children, in common with 
those of the other sex, are moral and accountable beings, des- 
tined to an immortal existence, and should, therefore, be assidu- 
ously taught a the moral and religious knowledge of right and 
wrong," — or their duty to God, to themselves, and to their 
fellow-creatures. As social beings, their understandings must 
be cultivated. As moral beings, their hearts must be cultivated. 
They may meet with unforeseen temptations and snares ; and 
should be taught self-government, modesty, and delicacy of 
thought, of speech, and of action. They may meet with hard and 
distressing trials : and should be early taught the value of a 
meek and humble spirit, which, in some women under adversity, 
has shone with a lustre far surpassing that of the diamond. 
Moreover, they may be destined, however worthy or estimable, 
to lead a single and solitary life ; and they should be so edu- 
cated that, having resources in their own minds, they will be 
able not only to endure, but to enjoy their hours of retirement 
and solitude, and to make themselves respectable and agreeable, 
by the good sense of their conversation and the benevolence of 
their dispositions. Again, they may be wives ; and it is the 
part of education to qualify and prepare them to be good wives 
— conversable — mild and affectionate — discreet — hospitable. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 415 

and yet frugal — looking well to the ways of their households. 
Finally, they may be mothers ; and it is the part of education to 
qualify them, as mothers, to educate their children. In this 
one particular, women have a most important part to act. 
Women, as mothers, do in a great measure form the characters 
of future women and of future men ; since the formation of 
character, for the first seven or eight years of life, depends chief- 
ly on them. If they are well-informed, discreet, and of good 
morals, their children are made, partly by their instruction, and 
partly by imitation, to assimilate to these qualities. But if they 
are vain and frivolous, their little ones soon catch the contagion 
of their vanity and frivolity. 

The foregoing particulars embrace most of the primary 
qualities or indispensable rudiments of a good female education. 
And yet quite often is it remarked of females, that they have had 
an excellent education, merely because they have been taught 
the female accomplishments. Very little attention was ever paid 
to the culture of their understandings, of their minds, of their 
hearts, of their tempers. But with much pains, and at consid- 
erable expense, they have got a smatter, and a mere smatter, of 
what are called the fine arts; such as Embroider}^ Drawing, 
Music, and so on. They have learned the discipline of the 
fingers and of the foot ; and for this reason alone, their educa- 
tion is held in admiration. As if mere accomplishments, which 
usually become obsolete soon after marriage, were sufficient tc 
prepare women to be excellent wives, excellent mothers, and 
excellent housekeepers ; as if a merely accomplished woman 
were fitted either to act her part respectably in society, or to 
take comfort in the solitude of retirement, or under the decays of 



416 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 

age ; or as if the modesty, and the refined manners of women 
spring from accomplishments, rather than from their being well 
taught in moral and religions duty. So far from all this, a mar- 
ried woman of mere accomplishments, and whose chief ambition is 
to make a figure in the eye of the public, seldom fails to render 
her husband unhappy, and herself too. 

In the school of Fashion, female accomplishments have long 
had the ascendant. Nor is it to my purpose to decry or despise 
them. Let those have them, if they please, whose rank in life 
requires it, and whose ampleness of fortune can well afford the 
expense. Yet even by them be it remembered, that they are but 
of trifling account in comparison of the solid and useful parts of 
education. If accomplishments be appended to these, they may 
serve to adorn the whole : but hapless will be the husband and 
the children of the woman, and quite as hapless the woman herself, 
who rests her character and conduct in life upon accomplishments 
alone. 

As to families of the common sort, possessed neither of high 
rank nor of ample fortunes, the plain useful education is the 
best for their daughters. This is all that can ordinarily do them 
any good ; and more than this may do them much harm. A 
very ancient and a very respectable writer — whom we ought to 
read much oftener than we do — hath told us of a knowledge that 
puffeth up. And, perhaps, there is no kind of knowledge more 
puffing} than the one I have now been mentioning. A female 
of scanty information, and weak intellect, so values herself for 
the circumstance of her being initiated in the practice of some of 
the fine arts, that she loses by it the use of her hands. She will 
vouchsafe, indeed, to employ her pretty fingers, now and then, in 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 417 

fancy-work, for amusement ; but in nothing that is really useful ; 
in nothing that earns bread ; in nothing that can turn to any 
valuable account. Perhaps she is in impoverished circumstances ; 
perhaps her condition is such as imperiously calls for the useful 
labor of her hands. It makes no difference. She is not of the 
laboring class, but far above it. She do the common work of 
womankind, — she, who had gone through all the grades of a 
fashionable education ! The idea is too monstrous. 

Thus, instead of being made, by their education, the more 
capable of helping themselves in this world of u thorns and 
thistles," of labor, toil, and hardships ; — there are some, and 
perhaps not a few, whose very education renders them but the 

more helpless. 

18* 



418 THE BRIEF EEMAEKEK 



NUMBER XCVII. 

OF THE COMMON USE OF FALSE WEIGHTS AND MEASUEES IN DEALING OUT 
BOTH PEAISE AND CENSUEE. 

" O, that men's ears should be 

To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! " 

Shakespeare. 

In the whole compass of human traffic, there is, perhaps, no 
commodity that is dealt out with less regard to weight and mea- 
sure, than praise ; if we except only its opposite, namely, dis- 
praise or reproach. 

In the bestowment of praise, we are very apt to be guided 
by our feelings, or our interests, rather than our judgments. 
Freely, and in more than full measure, we bestow upon our 
friends what costs us nothing, and what we secretly hope they 
will repay us in the same way. To praise the Athenians is the 
way to be praised by the Athenians — was one of the proverbs of 
antiquity. Neither ought it to be regarded as a peculiarity of 
the Athenian character, but rather as a common feature in our 
general nature. There is no so ready way to obtain flattery, as to 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 419 

bestow it plentifully. And hence men flatter, with the view of 
being flattered in return. Indeed it is better, of the two, to be 
too lavish of praise, than too prodigal of censure. But even the 
former is of evil tendency, because they who find it easy to 
obtain a greater quantity of praise than they deserve, will not 
only be the less careful to deserve it, but also the less likely to 
make a just estimate of their own characters ; self-love naturally 
inclining us to think of ourselves quite as well as we find others 
speak of us. Moreover, extravagant encomium, besides violating 
truth, and infusing the poison of flattery, seldom fails to injure 
the subject of it, by occasioning a critical investigation of faults 
or defects, which else might have been less noticed or sooner 
forgotten. Nor would it be hazarding too much to say, that 
undue encomium is even more likely to do us an essential injury 
than undue censure ; for the latter might possibly be the means 
of meliorating the qualities of our hearts, whereas the former 
directly tends to pervert and deprave them. 

Whilst some praise almost nobody, others praise almost 
every body. These last are as nauseously sweet, as the others 
are crabbedly sour. Affecting the superlative of candor, they 
speak alike well of the generality of their species ; and so far 
as in them lies, they put upon one and the same level, wisdom 
and folly, virtue and vice, and pour the incense of their own 
foolishness upon the whole mass. This indiscriminate praise is 
the meanest of all adulation : and it tends to destroy, among 
men, all sense of distinction of character. One who is accus- 
tomed to speak in nearly the same favorable terms of all, is 
either too weak, or too insincere, to be deserving of the esteem 
of any. 



420 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 

Next to the mischievous folly of the afore-mentioned species 
of indiscriminate praise, is that of bestowing unqualified applause 
upon characters or works, which are commendable upon the 
whole, but censurable in some of their parts. Men, and the 
works of men, are always imperfect, however excellent in a gen- 
eral view, and it is the part of wisdom to distinguish between 
their excellencies and their imperfections ; noting the one sort 
for imitation, and the other for avoidance. But it is too much 
the custom to laud whatever appertains to your friend, because 
he is your friend. This is yielding to friendship more than its 
due, and more than good conscience can admit of; as it partakes 
of the dishonesty of using false weights and measures. Not that 
it is not allowable, and even dutiful, in many instances, to con- 
ceal the fault we know ; for oftentimes circumstances require 
that, in speaking of others, we make it a rule, " rather to say 
nothing that is false, than all that is true." Nevertheless, to 
eulogize the whole of characters, which are adorned with man- 
ifest excellencies, and at the same time blemished with defects 
which are alike manifest, is to blend truth with falsehood, and 
to present to the view a fallacious, rather than a real likeness. 
As to speak well of every body is false candor, so to commend 
alike every thing in, or done by one's friend, is false praise. De 
mortuis nil nisi bonum — say nothing but good of the dead — is 
an old maxim, and, in a qualified sense, a very just one. But 
though humanity demands that we " tread lightly on the ashes 
of the dead," and although decency forbids ail unnecessary ex- 
posure of the failings and blemishes in their lives ; yet the sacred 
laws of truth peremptorily prohibit exaggerated praise even of 
them. This is an error, to which the ardor (not to say the 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 421 

pride) of friendship, is exceedingly liable. Funeral panegyrics, 
epitaphs, and biographical memoirs, often, very often, portray 
the affectionate feelings of surviving friends, rather than the real 
picture of character. Not to mention, that over-praising the 
dead is done, sometimes, for the sake of flattering the living. 

Eulogy, whether of the living or the dead, which evidently 
overleaps the bounds of truth, defeats its own purpose, and has 
even the effect of satire. So that we may do our friends as real 
injury by excessive praise, as by defamation. 

As we are prone to over-praise those we have a warm affec- 
tion for ; we are still more prone, on the other hand, to dis- 
parage or undervalue those we dislike ; grudging to allow them 
such good qualities as they really possess, or to commend them 
for such good deeds as they have really done ; and displaying all 
their failings in the highest colors of aggravation. This perverse 
propensity, wrought into the very web of our fallen nature, is ex- 
ceedingly difficult to cure. How few possess enough of mag- 
nanimity, not to say of the genius and spirit of Christianity, to 
do full justice to the good deeds of a real or supposed foe ; or even 
to one belonging to an adverse party in religion, or in politics ! 

" The true critic " (said Dean Swift, ironically,) " is a dis- 
coverer and collector of writers' faults." 

But not to run foul of the critics ; some men and women, 
like flies, feed altogether upon the sore part of the characters of 
those about them. These scavengers of reputation, are ever 
hunting about, with a microscopic eye, for foibles, infirmities, and 
blemishes ; and are too busy abroad, to regulate things aright at 
home. 

Pliny relates of Julius Caesar, that he blamed in so artful a 



422 THE RRIEF REMARKED 

manner, that he seemed to praise. On the contrary, others are 
as artful in their praises, as Caesar was in his reproaches : and 
that too, with the basest intentions. " They use envenomed 
praise, which, by a side-blow, exposes, in the person they com- 
mend, such faults as they dare not any other way lay open." 

The tooth of calumny never wounds more deeply, nor ever 
infuses more poison into the wound, than by this insidious me- 
thod. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 423 



NUMBER XCVIII. 

OF AN OFFICIOUS MEDDLING WITH, AND A TOTAL DISEEGAED OF THE 

AFFAIES OF OTHEES. 

Society has been infested, in all ages of the world, with per- 
sons prone to intrude themselves into the concerns of their neigh- 
bors ; with tattlers, busybodies and intermeddlers, who must 
needs have their spoons in every body's porringer. These un- 
welcome and troublesome guests were distinctly marked by the 
sagacious eye of the king of Israel, who has given them their full 
due. Indeed, some of this sort are quite ingenious in their way, 
and so much the worse ; for by how much greater is their in- 
genuity, by so much the more mischief they do ; their minds re- 
sembling a fertile soil which, for want of proper culture, bears 
nothing but weeds and poisonous plants. 

Not but that, now and then, an officious intermeddler, or even 
a tale-bearer, may mean no harm ; the one being actuated by an 
undue opinion of his own importance, and the other by the van- 
ity of appearing to know the characters and the concerns of all 
about him. But intentional sowers of discord, who from envy 



424 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

malice, or the love of mischief, employ themselves in breeding 
dissensions in families and neighborhoods, are well nigh as pesti- 
lent as thieves and robbers ; and the less they are punishable by 
civil law, the more should they be made to feel that species of 
punishment which public opinion inflicts. 

Parents and preceptors can hardly do a better service for 
their children, than by principling their minds, and fixing their 
hearts against faults so pernicious to society, and so ruinous to 
character : faults which are curable when they first appear in 
the young mind, but which grow into inveterate habits by the 
indulgence of neglect. It is hardly conceivable what a vast 
amount of evil might be prevented, if the young were taught as 
generally and as carefully in this particular as they are in the first 
rudiments of learning. 

By those who, from habit, or from temper, make it their 
business and delight to pry into and publish the failings of others, 
be it remembered, " that at that day ivhen the failings of all 
shall be made manifest, the attention of each individual ivill be 
fixed only on his oivnP 

There is a fault, however, directly opposite to that of offi- 
ciously meddling with the concerns of our neighbors : I mean 
the absence of all heartfelt concern for any but ourselves and our 
near kin. This fault, however artfully it may be covered, 
springs, for the most part, from sordid selfishness, or from anti- 
social apathy of heart. 

Selfishness, which is the love of self and of every thing else 
for the sake of self, has the power of keeping some persons at a 
vast distance from interrneddliDg with their neighbors 1 affairs, 
for which they care not a straw any farther than such extraneous, 



ON THE WAY8 OF MAN. 425 

affairs have a bearing upon their own personal interests. So, 
also, the cold-hearted, in whose bosoms is the perpetual calm of 
apathy, trouble not their neighbors, as busy-bodies in their 
matters ; because they have not enough energy of soul either to 
love or to hate in good earnest. Now it often falls out. that 
some belonging to each of these two classes, value themse. 
highly upon their practical abstraction from all concerns but 
their own, and boast of it as a shining virtue. li We are not 
meddlers, not we. It is our manner to mind our own I 
nesSj and to let all -other folic alone.''' Nevertheless, if they 
would open the folds of their own hearts, and observe fairly what 
is going on there, they would find that their not being meddlers 
is owing to any thing else, rather than to a pure principle of 
virtue. 

And here it is not unimportant to remark, that it is no less 
the purpose and business of proper education to foster and en- 
courage the social feelings of our nature, than it is to eradicate 
dispositions of intrusive meddling : for if one without all warmth 
of heart, be seldom tempted to become a busy-body in other 
men's matters, he as seldom is much better than a mere blank in 
society — doing little mischief, and as little good. 

Am I my brother's keeper ? — We know who said it. And 
so, in manifold instances, when one is ruining himself and his 
family by the mismanagement of his affairs, or when one betr: 
the symptoms of an inceptive vice, which, growing into a habit, 
will land him in perdition ; his neighbors coolly look on, saying 
in their hearts, and to one another, i: It is his own affair." Not 
employing a single effort to save him. though often, betwixt 
themselves, they shake the head, and remark, that he is on the 



426 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

road to ruin. Perhaps it is a youth, that is supposed to have 
stepped into this fatal road ; a young man of goodly promise, or 
a young woman of amiable dispositions, but wanting discretion. 
Perhaps that youth is an orphan, and errs for lack of the guiding 
hand of a parent. It is all the same. Every body is sorry, 
very sorry indeed, but nobody moves the tongue, or lifts a finger 
for the purpose of rescue or prevention. 

It is not so that we act in other respects. We struggle hard 
to save a fellow-being that is drowning before our eyes. Should 
we see a man stand upon the brink of a frightful precipice, and 
unconscious of his danger, doubtless we should instantly give 
him warning. Hardly should we neglect to snatch either the 
empoisoned bowl from the lips of one that mistook the poison for 
a wholesome beverage, or the knife or razor from the throat of 
a man or woman in the act of committing suicide. Common 
humanity impels us to acts of this sort. And yet when we see 
in scarcely less jeopardy of another kind, a neighbor, an acquain- 
tance — one whom the offices of discreet and faithful friendship 
might perhaps rescue and restore — we are listless — we let him 
alone — we'll not meddle — His his oivn affair ! 

Apathy is the Limbo of the mind — an intermediate state, 
equi-distant from the two opposites, happiness and misery. As 
they who have no care but for themselves, have, at the same 
time, very little comfort but from themselves, their lot, in a 
comparative view, is not to be envied. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 427 



NUMBEE XCIX. 

OF TUB XING GOOD TO ILL BY TAMPERING WITH IT. 

A great part of the ill that we suffer, might be avoided, if we 
would only learn to let well alone. But such is the plague of 
our hearts, in regard to temporal as well as higher matters, that 
we are seldom or never quite contented with our lot, when even 
it is no unpleasant one, but mar and spoil what we perversely 
endeavor to mend. For if we dally with any good which Provi- 
dence gives us, we run the risk of either impairing or losing it. 

How often is comeliness of features disfigured by affectation 
which would make better, what God hath made well. 

How often do we lose our health by tampering with it, in 
order to make it better. When we are well, we cannot be easy, 
and let ivell alone, but must needs be meddling with our corpo- 
real mechanism while it is going exactly right. An Italian 
nobleman, whose fatal folly it was not to let well alone, ordered, 
as a solemn warning to others, the following line to be engraven 
on his tomb; a Iivas ivell — I iv anted to be better — and here I 
am I " In innumerable instances, the grave has been peopled 



42tf THE BRIEF REMARKER 

immaturely, by means of nostrums, which the well have used to 
preserve and prolong their health. 

Mark the children that are fed with dainties, enticed to eat 
before they are hungry, and kept from the air, like chickens in 
an oven — mark their sallow and sickly faces, — the feebleness of 
their whole frames. They were well born, and well they might 
have continued, but for the tampering of false tenderness. 

Almost innumerable are the instances of well-conditioned 
men and families, who are mourning over the ruin of their 
worldly circumstances — not by any direct providential stroke 
of adversity, nor by means of conduct of their own that was 
morally bad, but solely because they did not let ivell alone. 

One " sells the pasture to buy the horse." He barters away 
his fast estate for goods. A single turn of the wheel of for- 
tune, turns him to a bankrupt. 

Another, not content with being a farmer merely, is eager 
for the distinction of a barren office. Luckily for his feelings. 
but unfortunately for his circumstances, he obtains it. He neg- 
lects his farm, and his farm neglects him. His expenses increase, 
and his income diminishes : it is needless to tell the rest. 

A third, possessing a sufficiency, and but a bare sufficiency, 
for. a plain and frugal living, is fashionable and splendid ; for he 
must needs let the world know that he is Somebody. So he 
goeth ; and " his poverty cometh as an armed man." 

A fourth, though snug and comfortable at home, fancies he 
can do a great deal better abroad. He has heard of the. goodly 
lands which yield astonishing abundance, and almost without 
labor. He sells all he possesses, and on he goes at random. 
He arrives ; when, lo ! he finds, even there, a full measure of 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 429 

the thorns and thistles of the curse, and, peradventure, finds 
himself cheated at last out of his all. 

Not uncommon, at the present time, is that fatal defect in 
character, which the venerable patriarch imputes to his first- 
born : — u Unstable as water ', thou shalt not excel" Of very 
many it may be said, that their greatest error, and the source of 
most of their misfortunes, is a fickleness of temper : they are in- 
genious, active, industrious, and yet poor ; because they pursue 
no single object long enough to reap benefit from it. No sooner 
do they begin to do well in any particular business, than they 
forsake it for another. 

Perhaps there is no one quality that more thoroughly runs 
through the warp of our fallen nature, than the disposition to 
be restless. There is a something more, or a something dif- 
ferent, which we are ever prone to covet ; and unless our minds 
are well disciplined, we shall poison the cup of life by our ab- 
surd attempts to sweeten it, or lose the good within our reach, 
while grasping at that which is beyond it. 

Of all morbid habits, that of being dissatisfied with even 
the comfortable conditions of life, in which Providence has 
placed us, is one of the most unfortunate. With persons of this 
cast, it makes no difference though their success in life be never 
so great ; the same sickliness of heart cleaves to them as a 
garment, even after their fortunes have never so much exceeded 
their own expectations. 

The following form of devotion, used by one of the ancients, 
is suitable to blind mortals of Adam's race, who know not, nor 
can know, precisely, either the quantities or the qualities of 
worldly enjoyment most conducive to their own good. — " Give 



430 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

me whatsoever may be good for me, though I should neglect 
to pray for it, and deny me whatsoever would be hurtful, 
though I should ignorantly make it the object of my supplica- 
tions." The ways of Divine Providence are mysterious but un- 
erring ; its kindness is manifested frequently in withholding as 
well as in giving ; as well in restraints as in indulgencies ; as 
well in disappointments as in crowning our wishes with success. 
How oft, in our journey of life, has Providence thwarted our 
inclinations^ and by this means prevented our wanderings. 
How often have we been walking blindly upon the edge of a 
precipice, prepared to take the fatal leap, when an invisible 
power diverted our course by disappointing us of our purpose. 
How oft have incidents, that seemed evil to us at first, been 
productive of good ; and how oft might the things which our 
hearts desired, and of which Providence disappointed us, have 
been hurtful in the enjoyment. As little children cry for what 
would injure them, and struggle with the hand that restrains 
them from running into dangers ; so we, children of a larger 
size, but in many instances not knowing what is good for our- 
selves, frequently desire, with most eagerness, what would be 
most for our hurt, and perversely repine even at those provi- 
dential restraints and trials which are the effects of a merciful 
purpose. 

" During the violence of a storm," says a German fable, 
" a traveller offered up his supplications, and besought Heaven 
to assuage the tempest. But the storm continued with unabat- 
ing fury ; and while he was drenched with the flood, fatigued 
with his journey, and exposed without shelter, he became 
peevish, and even complained aloud of the ways of Providence. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 431 

Approaching at length the borders of a forest, he said to him- 
self, " Here I shall find protection, notwithstanding Heaven has 
neglected me, and turned a deaf ear to my prayers." Bat as he 
went forward, a robber sprang out suddenly from behind a bush, 
and the traveller, affrighted at the prospect of instant death, 
fled out of the forest, exposing himself again to the tempest, of 
which he had so grievously complained. The robber, in the 
mean time, fitting an arrow to his bow, took exact aim ; but the 
bow-string being relaxed by the moisture of the weather, the 
arrow fell short of its mark, and the traveller escaped unhurt. 
As he continued his journey, a voice proceeded, awful, from the 
clouds: <c Cease, mortal, to repine at the divine dispensations; 
and learn to acknowledge the goodness of God, in refusing as 
well as in granting your petitions. The storm, which you com- 
plained of so bitterly, has been the means of your preservation. 
Had not the bow-string of your enemy been rendered useless by 
rain, you had fallen a victim to his violence." 



432 THE BRIEF EEMARKER 



NUMBER C. 



OF A RESTLESS DESIRE TO KNOW WHAT OTHERS SAY OF TJS. 



" Take no heed to all words that are spoken, lest thou hear thy servant curse thee.' 1 

Solomox. 



Perhaps no weakness of our fallen, feeble, and erring nature, is 
more disquieting to ourselves, or more troublesome to our ac- 
quaintances, than an overweening curiosity to know what is said 
of us. 

A person of this turn is never at his ease. Jealousy is, in 
him, an ever-waking sentinel. Even his familiars, he fears, will 
slander or undervalue him ; and if he happens to hear that any one 
of them has spoken of him slightingly, he instantly regards that 
one as his foe, and thenceforward is the more jealous of all the 
rest. 

In company, he views every look with a suspicious eye. He 
reads a plot against himself, even in a nod, or a whisper. If 
what he finds to have been said of him can admit of a double 
meaning, he gives it the worse meaning of the two. If he finds 
himself commended as to his general character, but censured in 
some particular instance, he is wounded, just as though the 
whole of his character had fallen under reprobation. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 433 

This restless curiosity to know what is said of him, keeps his 
mind perpetually upon the rack. Day by day, he is anxiously 
inquisitive upon this point. If he fail of the object of his in- 
quiries, and can hear of little or nothing said about him, either 
one way or the other ; — then he is stung at the heart with im- 
agined neglect. And, contrariwise, if he chance to find that 
which he so anxiously inquires after, he finds it, perhaps, to his 
own cost and discomfort. He will have gained an article of in- 
telligence which he had better have been without. His experi- 
ence, peradventure, will have accorded with what we are plainly 
advertised of, in the above-cited pithy, adrdonition of the Wise 
Man. 

The distemper of mind here spoken of, may arise fom an ar- 
dent desire of esteem, and the consequent dread of disesteem ; and 
it may be found in persons possessed of some very estimable 
qualities of heart. But whatever be its origin, or in whomso- 
ever it be found, it is the cause of a great deal of useless disquie- 
tude, and ever exposes one to wanton sport and ridicule. 

Now. it being a great pity that persons of the one sex or the 
other, who are estimable in some respects, and yet labor under 
this infirmity, should not reason themselves out of it; I crave 
leave to lay before them the following considerations. 

1. Those even, whose characters are good in the main, must 
needs be sensible, if they have any competent measure of self- 
knowledge, that they are not quite perfect. And why, then, 
should they be angry that others too, are sensible of it, and that 
their imperfections are sometimes spoken of? It is by no means 
certain that there is in this thing any enmity or real ill-will. 

2. Persons possessed of this morbid or excessive sensibility 

19 

4 



434 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

with regard to their own reputations, cannot but remember that 
themselves, one time or another, and in free conversation, have 
remarked on the foibles and faults of those whom they highly 
esteem upon the whole, and for whom they have, at the same 
time, a sincere friendship. And assuredly it is unreasonable 
for one to be angry for receiving the same measure which one 
metes out. If a person you thought your friend, hath spoken 
slightingly of you, in one single respect or other ; — what then ? 
Have you not yourself, sometimes, and in some particulars, 
spoken slightingly of those whom you were inclined to rank in 
the number of your friends ? If you have done it, you should 
not be angry when the same is done to you. 

3. In a fit of levity, or of ill-humor, it is not uncommon for 
some folks to speak with partial disrespect of the self-same per- 
sons whom, at other times, they mention with expressions of high 
esteem and affectionate regard. So that a great part of people's 
ill sayings of one another, are attributable to peevishness or 
thoughtlessness, and not to malignity alone. Hence the author 
of the admirable book of Ecclesiasticus observes, — " There is 
one that slippeth in his speech, hut not from his heart." 

4. Even the ill-natured remarks of an enemy might be turned 
to a profitable use, by carefully correcting in one's self the fault 
or foible that occasioned them. It is told of the Prince of Conde, 
who was the most eminent hero of his day, that his domestics 
observing with what great attention he was reading a certain 
pamphlet, one of them said to him : " This must be a very fine 
piece, since you take so much pleasure in reading it." To 
which the Prince replied : " It is very true that I read this with 
great pleasure, because it tells me my faults, which no man dares 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 435 

venture to do." — The pamphlet was in the strain of severe invec- 
tive against the errors, faults, and foibles of the same Prince of 
Conde. 

5. We seldom miss it more than in imagining that all 
about us take an interest in our ordinary concerns. If we think 
the world spends much attention about us, one wa} 7 or the other, 
we have a mistaken notion of our own consequence. For, with a 
few exceptions, the individuals of the community are very little 
the subjects of each other's thoughts and conversation ; the gen- 
erality being too busy in thinking of themselves, to employ 
many of their thoughts elsewhere. Had one, by the help of 
magic, or by whatever means, the power of rendering himself in- 
visible, and should he, in using the privilege of invisibility, go 
about from house to house, over his whole neighborhood and 
town, he would, probably, find himself spoken of by his neighbors 
and acquaintances more seldom than he had expected ; and, in all 
probability too, he would hear the very same persons speak quite 
differently of him at different times. 

In few words ; universal and unqualified approbation it is 
folly to expect. And although we should, by no means, be re- 
gardless of what others think or sa} r of us, yet the best way, or 
rather the only good way, is to be more solicitous to deserve 
esteem than to win it — more solicitous to do well, than to obtain 
the credit of doing well ; and thus, to proceed on in the straight 
line, without angling for praise, or being too fearful of reproach. 
Whoso acteth in this manner, and upon pure, evangelical princi- 
ples, enjoys a consciousness of feelings far more delightful, than 
an} r thing that can spring from the unmerited applause of ten 
thousand tongues. 



436 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER CI. 



SUMMARY CHARACTERISTICS. 



"Wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite, 

Virtue and vice blend their black and their white. 1 ' 



Inferior animals of the same kind have in general a sameness of 
physiognomy, and so trifling are the shades of difference between 
them in any respect, that the portraiture of one individual de- 
scribes the whole species. But as human animals are moral and 
accountable, and subject to law. a marvellous provision is made 
in the divine economy, for the identification of every individual ; 
in so far that each is distinguishable from each by the look, by 
the voice, by the gait, by the handwriting, and by several other 
modes of difference, hardly describable. though plainly perceiva- 
ble. Were it otherwise, the judge might be mistaken for the 
thief; the innocent and the guilty would be blended together, 
without the possibility of making any legal discrimination betwixt 
them. 

The differences are no fewer, but perhaps more multifarious, 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 437 

in the features of mind. So that, if the minds of mankind were 
as visible as their bodies, the individuality of each person might, 
perhaps, be as clearly determined from the former as from the 
latter. 

Of the different features of minds, including qualities of 
heart as they appear in overt act. the following are samples : in 
sketching which I am constrained, for the sake of necessary 
brevity, to personify the twenty -six letters of the alphabet. 

A — is nolle- spirited but not charitable; in a public subscrip- 
tion his name figures well, but a Lazar might starve at his gate. 

B — is quite candid enough in respect to practice ; but if you 
thwart merely his speculative opinions ^ he raves like a bear. 

C — is a woman, peevish and querulous about little things ; 
her heavy calamities she bears with pious resignation, and with 
more than masculine fortitude. 

D — enters with spirit into a laudable public undertaking, so 
the plan comes from himself, or he has the direction of it ; else he 
will have nothing at all to do with the business, not he. 

E — lives in the practice of vice ; but would insult a man 
who should say any thing derogatory of the principles of virtue. 

F — takes pride in railing against pride ; he hates the pride 
of fashion, and is proud of being out of the fashion. 

Gr — and his wife, abroad or in company, are all milk and 
honey ; their ill-nature they save for domestic use. 

H — is easy of temper, but very far from compassionate : his 
easiness of temper is nothing but apathy. 

I — is good or ill-tempered by fits and starts ; now, he is so 
pleasant, that nothing can anger him ; then again, he is so techy, 
that nothing can please him. 



438 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

J — is rough and impetuous, but of a feeling heart ; his mind, 
as respects anger, is like wood that in a moment catches fire, 
which as quickly goes out. 

K — is slow to anger, but much slower to be appeased ; once 
affront him, and he is coolly your enemy for ever. 

L — is not hard to be reconciled in a matter, in which the 
fault lies altogether on the other side ; but when he has been in 
fault himself, the consciousness of it stirs his pride and stiffens 
his temper. 

M — feels strongly whatever relates to himself; other people's 
misfortunes he bears with singular calmness and fortitude. 

N — , though possessed of no extraordinary share of wisdom, is 
affronted if you decline to follow his advice, and is equally affron- 
ted if any one presumes to advise him. 

— 's cringing sycophancy to superiors might be thought hu- 
mility, were he not brutally imperious and overbearing to infe- 
riors and dependants. 

P — loudly complains of the needy friends he abandons, to 
escape the reproach of abandoning them in their need. 

Q — frequently changes her friends for a slight cause, or for 
no cause, and always likes the last best : — with her, friendship is 
like a nosegay, which pleases only while it is fresh. 

K — would appear well enough, but for his affectation of ap- 
pearing extremely well, which makes him appear below himself; 
the vanity of being thought important rendering him ridiculous. 

S — tamely acquiesces in what is generally believed, because it 
is generally believed ; he wants no other proof of the truth of a 
thing, than its having a plurality of numbers on its side. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAS. 439 

T — runs into extravagant singularities, from the vanity of 
appearing possessed of superior understanding. 

U — would not be suspected of dishonesty, but for his fre- 
quently boasting that he is honest ; nor of want of veracity, but 
for his habit of propping his word and promise with asseverations. 

Y — passes for wise, because he is taciturn, — perhaps not so 
much from gravity as stupidity. 

TV — might please every body with the eloquence and good 
sense of his conversation, if he knew only when to have done. 

X — , a lady of fashion, affects exquisite sensibility, by her 
look, her manner, and her tones of voice ; such is her tenderness, 
that she weeps over high-life scenes of fictitious distress ; and 
such is her obduracy, that she regards, with unfeeling indiffer- 
ence, those vulgar objects of real distress, that have claims upon 
her practical charity. 

Y — , a philosopher of the school of cosmopolites, possesses a 
fund of speculative benevolence, which he often makes use of in 
word, but never in deed : like his prototype, the pagan philoso- 
pher, Seneca, who wrote an excellent book upon charity, but, 
though he was rich, gave nothing away. 

Z — endeavors to commute for his neglects and trespasses 
in some things, by a grave and punctilious exactness in others. 
He will go miles to church on a stormy day : in his worldly 
dealings, he is not altogether a hard honest man, but hardly 
honest. 



440 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBEB OIL 

OF THE NECESSITY OF SEASONABLE PEEOATJTION. 

That " an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," is an 
old and true proverb, which is applicable alike to a multitude 
of cases : the ills we suffer in life being, in a large proportion, 
either of our own procuring, or such as might have been prevent- 
ed by timely care and precaution. 

It seems to have been a standing custom of the Asiatics, in 
their epistolary correspondence, to conclude a letter with this 
sage advice, Take care of your health ; a precept which, were it 
generally put in practice, would save the lives of multitudes in 
every country. The grave is peopled with myriads, who might 
still have enjoyed the light of life, but for the intemperate man- 
ner of their living ; and with other myriads, whose deaths were 
occasioned by unnecessarily exposing their health. 

The lovely Belinda falls into a hectic, in the flower of her 
age. The life-spring within her fails ; the art of medicine is un- 
availing: " the worm of death is in her bloom." Yet what a 
pound of cure cannot remove, an ounce of prudence might have 
prevented. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 441 

There was a time, and a very long time, when in the Chris- 
tianized world, it was thought a merit to torment and waste the 
corporeal part of our nature ; when the body was considered as 
at utter enmity with the soul; when it was voluntarily subjected 
to cold, and nakedness, and to unmerciful scourging, in order to 
curb and break its rebellious propensities. We live, however, in 
a more rational age. 

Blessed be the day of Martin Luther's birth, and blessed 
the work achieved by him ! He gave the death-blow to this 
mummery, and brought the body again into favor with its supe- 
rior in the partnership. But whether it be a relic of the old po- 
pish superstition, or to whatever cause it may be attributable, 
there are said to be ladies at this day, even protestant ladies, who 
mortify, distress, and consume their own precious bodies, by 
keeping them in irons ! But this by the by. 

It is no uncommon thing to anticipate the stroke of time. 
Often, very often, the vigorous and robust squander their health, 
and hasten the blow that levels them; while the feeble, by tem- 
perance and assiduous care, spin out life to an advanced age. 

Many of our misfortunes, as we call them, spring from im- 
prudence or neglect. Through the neglect of a small leak a ship 
is sunk, and its crew, perhaps, lost. The neglect of a few feet of 
fence may destroy a crop, and so may a few days' negligence or 
sloth in seed time or harvest. Angry lawsuits, and heavy pecu- 
niary losses, not unfrequently might have been prevented, by a 
seasonable attention that would have required very little of time 
or labor. Some plunge themselves into inextricable embarrass- 
ment, which might have been avoided, had a portion of their 

leisure been devoted to the devising of a reasonable plan of liv- 
19* 



442 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

ing; and others, again, are impoverished by artificial wants, of 
which they might easily have prevented the intrusion. Indeed, 
of instances there is no end. 

But that which is of the most importance by many degrees, 
is yet behind. There are means preventional of moral } as wel 
as of natural evil. Most of the vices that infest society, and 
bring utter ruin upon individuals, are more easy of prevention 
than of cure : and it is to be hoped that the time is coming when 
civil governments, blending Christian morals with state policy, 
will employ their power and influence fully as much to prevent 
crime as to punish it. That would be an era more happy than 
language can describe. But passing over what is remote and 
contingent, I will mention, and but mention, the actual and prac- 
ticable powers of two kinds of government — Domestic and Per- 
sonal. 

Inconsiderate parents are apt to think that time will cure the 
faults of their children. This is a sad and fatal mistake. Not 
but that time, perchance, may cure the minor follies and errors 
of the juvenile mind ; such follies and errors as are peculiarly in- 
cidental to the inexperience, the imbecile judgment, and the 
eager vivacity, of childhood and immature youth ; but immoral 
propensities are strengthened, rather than cured, by time, which 
matures them into fixed habits. The bias to lying, profaneness, 
defrauding, or whatever immorality else, is not so very hard to 
cure when it first appears in the child ; but if it be neglected 
then, it grows into an inveterate habit in the man. It is of im- 
portance, however, to premise, that the inceptive immorality of 
childhood is to be cured chiefly by moral means,— by example; 
by exhibiting to the view its odious nature and direful conse- 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 443 

quences ; by cogent and convincing appeals to the understand- 
ing, and affectionate appeals to the heart : — and not altogether, 
or chiefly, by the infliction of punishments. 

One of the most important objects of domestic government, is 
so to train up children that they may have a due government of 
themselves. This is a point, on which the worth or worthless- 
ness of character greatly depends ; for discreet and well regu- 
lated self-government, is the surest prevention of the deplorable 
excesses of passion and appetite, since it keeps upon them a 
stronger and a more steady rein than any other human govern- 
ment does, or can keep. Neither is the science of self-govern- 
ment so hard to learn, nor the practice of it so very difficult, 
provided it be commenced as well in good season, as in good 
earnest. But the longer it is neglected, the greater is the diffi- 
culty ; till, at last, it becomes next to impossible for one to rule 
his passions, or to restrain his appetites. Immoral habits, which 
might have been easily prevented by timely discipline, attain gi- 
gantic strength by long indulgence. 

It is out of our power to alter the structure of our bodies : we 
must take them as they are, for better or for worse. We can- 
not change our complexions, or fashion our own features. We 
cannot add to our stature, or make even a single hair of our heads 
white or black. But it is not altogether so with the mind. We 
may, with the divine helps afforded us, improve and meliorate 
that. We may keep our passions and our appetites in subordina- 
tion to our reason. And in this necessary and noble exercise, 
should every one be employed, day by day, w T ho wishes to be 
wise, or hopes to be happy. 



444 THE BRIEF KEMAItKER 



NUMBEE CIII. 

OF OUR PE ONENESS TO GO FROM ONE EXTREME TO ANOTHER. 

It often happens, that when we set ourselves to straighten a 
crook, instead of making it quite straight, we crook it the con- 
trary way, or carry things from one extreme to the other. 

A youth of an ingenuous, liberal temper, is apt to be not re- 
gardful enough of his own interest. He esteems money as trash, 
and scorns to employ his cares about it. As it comes to him 
easily, it goes from him freely. He gives, he spends, he squan- 
ders, till at length, experiencing embarrassment, he resolves to 
become frugal and provident. But such a youth seldom stops at 
the true poiDt, but leaps, at once, far beyond it. Heartily sick 
of extravagance, he makes a covenant with avarice, and becomes 
unfeeling, illiberal, and miserly. 

The extreme of confidence often runs into the extreme of 
jealousy. Of those who live to a considerable age, very few, per- 
haps, leave the world, with as good an opinion of mankind as 



EDS WA MAN. 445 

:j had when th X: the eye of the ingenuous but 

xperienced orld appears bright and charming. 

He tool : with -dor. and honor, in his inter- 

bfa his fell ig& Fancy gilds the object* :: 

hopes, and whatever is promised him by hope, he i are 

and certain. Presently, ~ae illusion begins : : : aish. 

He mer- isappointment ; he encoun: a a :: Id-blooded 

fiahness, leeeit Grand, and perfidy ; his sonfidenee in me: 
:: suspicion; the hides, is :. sheat; he hastily - 

in his heart, that all n >gues ind liai 

sour and misanthropic. By how much his opinion of mankind 
was too favorable in his younger by sd much is it too un- 

charitable in his advanced ag> 

Self-convicted credulity often runs into skepticism: an" 
also, a zeal to free themselves from all shackle- :: superstition, 
is very apt to drive men upon the fatal re :ks of infidelity and ir- 
rengion. 

Gibbon, the ai-rorian, no less eelebrated for talents and 
rning than notorious for infidelity, was, in his youth, an im- 
plicit believei in. and a zealot for, the nonsensical popish doc- 
bine : : : : n s nl a : ; n I i a tion. To the arguments and exposf I : i ons 
of his father, and other Protestant reli fcives and friends, he was 
a::erly deaf. But happening, of himself to find out an argu- 
ment which convinced him of the monstrous absurdity of that doc- 
trine, he rejected it, and, along with il the whole s 
tern if divine revelation: which he in the manner of Voltaire en- 
countered with the weapons of sneer and contempt, rather than 
by fair and manly reasoning. 2s or :- it anlikely that the rank 
infidelity, s: _t :ral, a few years ago. among the learned and the 



446 THE BKIEF REMARKED 

fashionable in Europe, sprung chiefly from the same root. Iden- 
tifying the monstrous doctrines and superstitious rites of the 
corrupted church in whose bosom they had been educated, with 
the Gospel itself, and discerning clearly the ridiculous absurdi- 
ties of the former, they hesitated not to explode the latter. 

Some men of impetuous tempers, but of feeling hearts, are 
possessed by turns, of ferocity, and, on the other hand, of an un- 
due measure of indulgent feelings. In their gusts of anger hard 
words, and sometimes hard blows, are dealt out for petty 
offences, or for none at all. But no sooner has the tempest sub- 
sided than they deeply relent ; and, passing into the other ex- 
treme, they smother their little ones with caresses, and indulge 
them in every thing. A certain nobleman of former times is said 
to have been so remarkable in this respect, that his domestics 
threw themselves in his way whenever they saw him angry, in or- 
der to be beaten by him ; well knowing that he would reward 
them bountifully with gifts, as soon as his passion was cooled. 

Again, some fathers frame in their own minds a system of 
paternal government that is fine-spun in theory, but impracticable. 
They will govern by rule and plummet. They will begin in sea- 
son, and effectually whip old Adam out of their children. So 
they do begin, and so they proceed ; sternly marking every child- 
ish foible, till, finding their efforts baffled, they rather cast away, 
than remit the reins of government, and let their children do as 
they will. 

Beware of extremes. Several of the minor virtues of our 
nature degenerate into folly or vice, when carried beyond the due 
measure. Sensibility is not more lovely in its proper degree, 
than contemptible in its extravagance. A sentimentalist, puling 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 447 

over an uprooted flower, or a maimed butterfly, excites disgust 
rather than sympathy. Good-humor, candor, and generosity may 
all be carried to an extreme. If our good-humor render our 
moral characters flexible, and our hearts too yielding : if our candor 
degenerate into a sort of indiscriminate approvance of truth and 
error, of right and wrong, of the good and the evil : if our gene- 
rosity infringe upon the sacred laws of justice, by a hospitality ex- 
ceeding our means, or by giving gifts in preference to paying 
honest debts ; — in these, as in divers other cases, too much of a 
good thing turns it to a bad 



448 THE BRIEF EEMARKEE 



NUMBER CIV. 

OF DESPISING SMALL THINGS. 

'• He that despiseth small things shall fall by little and little." 

ECCLESIASTICUS. 

Thts text, though apocryphal, is consonant to the whole tenor 
of human experience. 

Time, which is of such invaluable account to every human 
being, is made up as of little particles, that ever are flying away 
from us, and never to return : no, never. 

" Time that ensueth 



Is but the death of time that went before. 
Youth is the death of childhood ; age of youth." 

How inconceivably small are the passing moments ! yet they 
are not to be contemned. For of these is the whole duration of 
life composed ; and it is the assiduous and wise use of moments, 
that crowns life with honor. On the other hand, by undervalu- 
ing the moments and neglecting to employ them, whole days and 
years are lost. 



<>X THE WAYS OF MAX. 449 

We often complain of the shortness of the whole, and, at the 
same time, are daily making prodigal waste of the parts. We 
carelessly throw away thousands of the small fractions of time ; 
else, in most cases, we should have time enough. 

So it happens that, in the acquisition of knowledge, the race 
is not always to the swift. Many a wonderful boy, that confided 
altogether in the native force of his genius, has been left far be- 
hind his contemporaries of smaller talent, but of unwearied assi- 
duity. And scarcely does history record the single instance of 
a man, truly great in point of knowledge, who did not diligently 
improve even the small fractions of his time. In short, with the 
exception of a few remarkable cases, much more is effected by the 
dint of application, than by the dint of genius. The fabled 
mouse, with unwearied diligence, ate in twain the cable which a 
giant could not have parted with all his strength. And besides, 
if it be of great value to know how to bear tedious moments with 
fortitude and patience, it is of still greater value to be able to 
prevent their being tedious ; which can be accomplished only by 
turning them to good account, through assiduous diligence in pro- 
per and useful pursuits. 

Xor is the apocryphal text that I am commenting upon, of 
less pertinent application to the interesting subjects of economy 
and morals. 

It is the hand of the diligent that maketh rich. Most estates 
have been acquired by little and little ; by regular and well-ap- 
plied industry, and by a prudent care against waste in even the 
smallest matters. By these means, in a long series of years, es- 
tates have grown up to such magnitudes as the owners themselves 
would be puzzled to account for. They had met with nothing 



450 THE BEIEF REMARKER 

that could be called great good luck. The wheel of fortune never 
turned them out a prize, nor did they ever gather a single sheaf 
from the field of speculation ; and they themselves can hardly see 
how their estates have so increased. The truth of it is, that 
small annual savings, so judiciously managed as to be made con- 
stantly productive, will, in the space of half a century, count up 
to the magnitude of considerable wealth. On the contrary, many 
of the estates that are spent, leak out chiefly in small streamlets. 
The heirs, or owners, are neither stained with gross vices, nor 
chargeable with wanton prodigality. But small things they have 
contemned, or at least neglected. And what from lack of indus- 
try, or the misapplication of it, and what from incessant little 
wastes, their all is gone at length, and they look about them deeply 
wondering how the catastrophe has happened. 

Turn we now to the consideration of Morals : — and here also 
our text holds true. Seldom does a man commit a crime of the 
blackest grain, till he has ripened himself for it by degrees. It 
is by little and little, he plunges into the depths of turpitude. 
He begins with contemning small things ; with disregarding the 
minor points in the code of morality ; and, step by step, he ad- 
vances, till at length he becomes capable of crimes, of which the 
bare thought would have struck him with horror at first. 

Here j a youth of estimable qualities, associates with the idle 
and dissipated ; not because he feels any desire for the intoxi- 
cating cup, but because he loves sport and jollity. Presently, 
however, his moral nature is deteriorated. By imperceptible 
degrees, he slides into intemperance, profanity, deep gaming ; 
and turns out, at last, either a desperate villain, or a lumpish 
sot. 






ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 451 

T/iere, a youth of good talents, of considerable learning, and 
possessed of pleasing social qualities, is seen, nevertheless, from 
his very cradle, to trespass often in the small way against truth 
and integrity. He begins with petty falsehoods and petty 
frauds ; mere childish or juvenile roguery, which the doting 
parent interprets as a mark of sprightly genius, rather than as 
the inceptive blossom of foul corruption. Unchecked in child- 
hood, and perhaps flattered for his art and cunning ; as he ad- 
vances in age, his genius takes a wider range. By little and 
little he proceeds on, till at last he adventures upon great things, 
and is arraigned before the bar of justice as a perjurer, a swin- 
dler, a forger, or a thief. 

In short, were all the tenants of our state prisons to publish 
a true and full account of themselves, it would be found that 
puerile immoralities, tolerated and encouraged, were the seeds 
which had ripened into so fearful a crop. 






452 THE BRIEF REMARKER 



NUMBER OV. 

OF CUTTING THE COAT TO THE CLOTH. 

Cervantes, in his inimitable Don Quixote, finely ridicules the 
custom of larding conversation and writings with proverbs or old 
sayings, by his dealiDg them out, by dozens, from the simple lips 
of Sancho. So also, the polished Chesterfield is known to have 
warned his son against this species of vulgarity, as well as 
against all unfashionable vice. But notwithstanding these high 
authorities, there is a great deal of pith in some old sayings ; for, 
in fewest words, they convey the lessons of sound experience. 
Of adages of this sort, few have a more extensive, or a more use- 
ful meaning, than the one which here follows : — " Cut your coat 
to your cloth" 

The literal sense nobody can mistake, and nobody's general 
practice is wide from it. But its metaphorical sense is daily 
contravened in the practice of no inconsiderable part of the sons 
and daughters of the giddy race of Adam, and more especially 
in the present age, and in this so highly favored country. Nor 
is any single frailty among us of more mischievous consequence, 



OX THE WAYS OF MAN. 453 

than the perverse effort to enlarge the coat beyond what the cloth 
will allow. Thousands are the hapless victims of this prevailing 
folly. Thousands, at this very moment, are pining in poverty 
and straits, who might have been at their ease, had they always 
cut their coat according to the measure of their cloth. And 
though what is past admits of no remedy, yet it may be made to 
have a salutary bearing upon things to come ; since hardly any 
thing has a more direct tendency to make us prudent, than the 
imprudences of which we feel the smart. 

Be it so ! And then, many of those who are now grieving 
that their all of earthly substance is lost, will yet, by God's 
blessing, restore themselves to a competence, and smile in the 
sunshine of contentment. 

It has been remarked by a writer of other times, that " he who 
is ignorant of the art of arithmetic is but half a man." Meaning 
that one who goes on with his affairs at random, or without cal- 
culation, must needs conduct them ill, whatever be his natural 
talents or capacit}^ 

We are told of a noble Venetian, who ordered his steward to 
deal out to his extravagant son no more money than he should 
count when he received it ; and that the prodigal youngster, 
having been used to nothing but the pursuit of his pleasures, was 
led, by the labor of counting his money, to reflect upon the labor 
it cost his father to get it; and thence was induced to retrench 
his expenses, and alter his manner of life. 

In like manner, only a little attention to arithmetic, as re- 
spects the apportioning the size of the coat to the measure of 
the cloth, might save from ruin many a goodly young man, and 
many an estimable family, of the present generation. 



454 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

" It is seldom seen/' observes the great Locke, u that he 
who keeps an account of his income and expenses, and thereby 
has constantly under view the course of his domestic affairs, lets 
them run to ruin ; and it is not to be doubted but many a man 
gets behindhand before he is aware, for want of this care, or 
the skill to do it." 

The arithmetic that is here recommended, is by no means com- 
plex or puzzling, but is plain, and level to every common under- 
standing. Therein the only question to be asked and solved is, 
can I afford it% No matter that the thing is cheap. No matter 
that this is comfortable, and that is fashionable ; no matter 
that such a style of living is most respectable in the eye of the 
world. Before you purchase the one, or go into the other, ask 
yourself the simple question, whether you can afford it, and let 
the true answer be the regulator of your expenses ; else your cir- 
cumstances will soon be ruined past all hope. 

With all those, in short, whose utmost means of living are 
small, resolute abstinence from all extraordinary expense, and 
rigid frugality, along with well-directed industry, so far from be- 
ing marks of meanness, are noble virtues. 

There are yet some other respects in which the sage advice, 
to cut the coat to the cloth, is to be carefully heeded : of these I 
will now mention only one, namely, the effort, more especially in 
early life, to build up the fabric of reputation too high and mag- 
nificent for its basis. 

This is an error of no uncommon occurrence. The youth of 
ardent feeling is in haste to acquire fame, and neglects no op- 
portunities of self-display. His own indiscretion in this respect 
is seconded by that of his friends, who by means of extravagant 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 455 

encomiums on his genius, puff him into notice. Thus he is made 
to enter upon the theatre of life with a reputation impossible for 
him to sustain. He is like a trader, who attracts and disap- 
points, by exhibiting to view the whole of his goods in the shop- 
window. His stores are all seen at once. They dazzle at first 
view, and expectation stands a tiptoe. To unfounded expecta- 
tion, disappointment succeeds of course, and he sinks as far be- 
low his true level, perhaps, as these adventitious circumstances 
had raised him above it. Better, far better had it been for him, 
if his coat had been cut to his cloth. 

One should beware of taking upon credit a greater amount, 
not only of money, but of reputation, than one will be able to 
make good. In the last respect, as well as in the other, it is a 
dangerous experiment for a young man to pass himself for more 
than he is worth. 

On the contrary, there is no less truth than beauty in the 
following lines of the poet : — 

" I have learn'd to fear 
The blossom that is early, and its leaves 
Too soon exposed to the chilling spring. 
But much I hope from the more modest bud, 
That hides its head and gathers secret strength, 
Scarce blown at mid-summer." 



456 THE BRIEF EEMAEKER 



NUMBER CVI. 

A SOLEMN MONITION. 

" 111 habits gather by unseen degrees *, 
As brooks run rivers, rivers swell.to seas." 

Dkyden. 

Upon the face of our country, in most other respects so free and 
happy, there are two plague-spots, of awful magnitude, and of 
mortal aspect : the one is the involuntary slavery of so large a 
portion of its population ; and the other, the voluntary and 
chosen slavery of numberless multitudes, to the all-destroying 
power of strong drink. How wide is this deadly evil spread ! 
How immensely numerous, — how deplorably wretched, are its 
victims ! 

Among this vast group of miserables, are to be found many 
of opulent parentage ; many, who did once inherit wealth them- 
selves ; many, who once were respectable and respected ; many 
who once were distinguished for industry, economy and thrift ; 
many, who were once brigbt in intellect, and possessed of amiable 



ON THE WAYS OF MAX. 457 

qualities of heart ; many, who once had a delicate sense of honor 
and a nobleness of sentiment ; many, who once felt, and deeply 
felt the endearing ties of relationship ; whose company gave daily 
delight to parents, brothers, sisters, wives, and children ; many, 
who were the hope and pride of their kindred, the ornaments of 
society — till the cup of abomination poisoned them, soul and 
body. 

Now, they are as lazy as poor ; now, their once comely vis- 
ages are changed to disgusting and hideous ; now, their bodies 
are debilitated and corrupted ; now, every fine and noble feeling 
is utterly extinguished, and all sense of honor and shame is gone 
and lost ; now, brutal ferociousness succeeds to the former sua- 
vity of temper ; now, natural affections themselves are extinct ; 
now, the aged and woe-struck parent is wantonly insulted, 
or shamefully neglected and disregarded ; now, the estimable, 
the once so dearly loved wife, is assailed with opprobrious lan- 
guage and wounding blows : now, both wife and children are 
forsaken— or, even worse — are made to endure, day and night, 
the brutality of a drunken husband and father, who, instead of 
supporting them, has become their fiend-like tormentor. 

This picture, so far from being overcharged or aggravated, is 
but a faint copy of the ghastliness of the original. 

Our country is invaded, and, in a considerable part, already 
conquered. The enemy has entered every town, almost every 
village, and is dragging away, year by year, fresh numbers of 
our citizens into slavery for life ; a slavery worse than Algerine, 
worse than is any where endured by the wretched Africans. 
This innumerable multitude of doubly, and most deeply-fallen 
men — scattered about over the whole face of our country — are not 
20 



458 THE BRIEF REMARKER 

merely a dead loss to, but a dead weight upon, the general society. 
And, moreover, they are drawing others into the same vortex of 
perdition ; each being like a mildewed ear of corn, which blasts 
the ears contiguous to it. Assuredly then, it behooves all who 
have any regard for religion, morals, or country, to employ their 
united and assiduous endeavors to stay this plague, ere it infect 
and consume the general mass of the population. 

Of the habitual and confirmed drunkards, there seems very lit- 
tle hope of a thorough cure. Somewhere it is related in substance, 
that a monkey, having been accustomed to the taste of strong 
drink, began to love it : that one clay, watching his opportunity, 
he helped himself, and drank so freely that he became sick and 
dizzy, and fell into the fire and burnt his foot : and that never 
after, though repeatedly urged, could he be prevailed with to drink 
so much as a single drop. 

Would that, in similar cases, the like prudence were found in 
man ! He, on the contrary, the more he experiences the effects 
of the raging poison, is the more bewitched after it. Though it 
makes him dizzy and sick, loathsome and self-loathed, and occa- 
sions him much worse bodily ills than befell the monkey ; yet all 
this but increases the greediness of his desire, and strengthens 
the chains of his bondage. One, of very many, masters the habit 
after it has become iuveterate, and thereby entitles himself to no 
small degree of honor. With some others there is, all their days, 
a struggle between moral feeling and appetite. They sometimes 
scotch the snake, but never kill it. Their condition is like that 
of the fabled Sisyphus, condemned to the fruitless toil of rolling 
up a steep hill a heavy stone, which ere he gets to the top, ever 
comes tumbling back, and compels him to begin his labor anew. 



ON THE WAYS OF MAN. 450 

But as to the general mass of drunkards, such a marvellous stupe- 
faction befalls them, that they seem to lose all moral sense, and all 
regard to consequences : — they are of the hospital of incurables. 

In no wise is it to be expected, that very many of those who 
have become real drunkards will ever reform : yet, where the 
habit is not fixed and inveterate, to master it is comparatively 
easy. 

If you are but just beginning to form this most pernicious 
of habits, pause, — for Heaven's sake, pause ! 

" The hour's now come : 



This very minute bids thee ope thine ear, 
Obey, and be attentive." 

See the pit lying before you. It is naked ; it hath no cover- 
ing ; one step further, and you are ingulfed, and for ever lost. 
While it is yet in your power, dash from your lips the cup of in- 
temperance. 

" For in the wreath that decks the flowing howl, 
Fell adders hiss, and poisoned serpents roll." 

What ! though young, do you need stimulants already? I heartily 
pity the poverty of your spirits. Assuredly, the young should 
have enough of that commodity — enough of genuine, unsophisti- 
cated animal spirits, of their own. If a young man now needs 
stimulants to make him cheerful and lively, what a lifeless lump, 
what a mere inanimate clod, must he be, when his youth is de- 
parted. And besides ; he that requires daily doses of strong 
drink in the season of youth, is almost sure to be a drunkard at 
middle age. Perhaps you may think you are in very little dan- 



460 THE BRIEF REMARK GR 

geryetj or in none at all. And so thought tens and hundreds of 
thousands before you. till they were inextricably involved in the 
awful snare. 

It is one of long experience, who addresseth you. The hand 
now writing is withered with age, and must soon be mouldering 
in the dust. 



THE END. 



&132. 82* 






A 



^ • 














^•Sff?\o**' V°*-^\\** %/^?^V* \m 



^>. 








o * « 



% ^ rP* ..-MI* °o 













^ 



? .* v< v 















* » 





















^OV 1 



4-°^ 





*<fe 



^pr N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 



•.T.« ,.0° V*^'* ^*. °°*'**^' 



